


Sit In Judgement Of What Makes Us Human

by Sweety_Mutant



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: (I mean they spend their life fighting so...), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Brother Feels, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Disguise, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Prison, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Violence, more characters and ships to be added with the new chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 41
Words: 55,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweety_Mutant/pseuds/Sweety_Mutant
Summary: Drace knew she should not have lost control in front of Vayne. Now she was as good as dead. Her career, ashes. Her weapons, taken away. Lord Larsa... somewhere, far awar, and no means to know if he was safe.As good as dead, yet alive, and it was her duty to carry on and fight.-A fix it of sort, roughly follows the events of the game but with some important divergences-(For the warmings “attempted non-con”, "past non-con", and “graphic depiction of violence/injuries”, I will specify it at the beginning of the chapters during which they will occur, this way you can skip the chapters)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, before you dive right in, this is an AU I have wanted to write for ages: a Drace survives AU. But here, I changed some stuff as you will see, and it went from a simple "Drace survives" to "some events arrive sooner and the whole future changes". (The fic begins right before the events in the Nalbina Dungeon)  
> Let's hope you like it, I for sure liked writing it!
> 
> Now on to thanking beautiful people. First of all my talented beta [Mad_Amethyst](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Amethyst), and her much appreciated help and support.  
> Many heartfelt thanks also to [Zeldabard](https://zeldabard.tumblr.com/) for creating beautiful FFXII content and loving the Judges as much as they need (and they need love believe me!). This fanfic is nourished by some of Zeldabard's wonderful headcanons, which you can check out here under the ffxii tag: [HERE](https://zeldabard.tumblr.com/tagged/final-fantasy-XII), or the headcanon post that I used the most [HERE](https://zeldabard.tumblr.com/post/174412166593/hello-zeldabard-do-you-have-any-headcanons-for)
> 
> One last thing that I thought needed adressing: the ages. Most of the characters (the party, Larsa, etc...) will keep the same age as they have in the game, BUT I disagree with some other of the ages. Like, you can't make me believe Basch and Gabranth are 36 if Bergan is only 33. (Besides I am touchy as hell about ages and ageism so i WANT badass middle-aged warriors as my main characters) So:  
> Drace is canonically 33, here she is 48.  
> Bergan is canonically 33, here he is 52.  
> Ghis is canonically 41, here he is 55.  
> Zargabaath is canonically 39, here he is 59.  
> Reddas is canonically 33, here he is 40.  
> (people like Vayne (27) or Marquis Ondore (61) keep their canonical ages though)
> 
> Anyway, on to the fic, and have fun reading!

The few hours of airship travel seemed infinite to Drace. The distance between Archades and Nalbina was not that long, but the waiting… and the man standing still like a headstone a few meters away from her. She should have guessed before, that Vayne’s treachery would run deeper than she had expected. Yet, in her heart had remained a strand of hope. Gabranth would step up, he would speak, he would not defend her, she did not need defending. But he might have shown to Lord Vayne that he did not have the support he was counting on. She would not have been alone then. What a fool she had been, to think she could count on him! Vayne had him on a leash too, like all the others— no. Not all the others. Drace saw past Ghis’s mask of loyalty. Soon, she thought, he will be in my place. In the meantime, he was as much a hindrance to her plans as the others. Only Bergan and Gabranth were truly loyal to Vayne. Out of love, out of hatred, but faithful hounds nonetheless. The only one who she really could trust was Zargabaath. She did not resent his preference for inaction, for, as infuriating as it could be, it was not acceptance nor cowardice. He had been, after all, the one to beg Vayne to spare her life. For all the years they had worked side by side, she had never lost her respect in him. She knew that his loyalties had never lain in Vayne, truth be told she had been the only one he had trusted enough to talk about this since Zecht’s disappearance. Yet he could not act. The stakes for him were too high, and she understood. He had never been her enemy, and she had the feeling that as long as he remained by the emperor’s side, there was hope. Hope for a new future, and the just empire she wanted to fight for. Hope for Lord Larsa. She felt a lump in her throat at the mere mention of her young Lord. What had she done? If she survived the whole ordeal, how could she tell him? It would shatter his innocence, and the faith he has in his family.

Drace shook her head, the weight of the irons biding her wrists bringing her back to reality.

She was on the way to the imperial prison of the Nalbina fortress, dead to the world. The future would come later. She might never see him again.

Now she should focus on survival, and of course, escaping, if such a thing was possible. At first, when she had realised that she would not be executed - by her own comrades!- but sent off to rot away, she had felt angry. She was no common thief to be disposed of like garbage. Yet, even if the dungeon had the reputation to be escape-proof, she would try as long as she drew breath. Vayne could have killed her, she had been injured and defenseless, but he had chosen to spare her- why, was it a sudden feeling of empathy or on the contrary cruelty?-

It was a mistake to let her live. Now, from the shadows, she would do her best to protect her young Lord and the Empire. This time, truly, she would bring him down.

It had all happened so quickly. Her loss of control, her words, drawing her weapon, Bergan upon her in an instant. How could a man his size be so fast? His gauntlet crushing her head, sending her flying. The pain across her chest, her ribs on fire. Breathless. She should have been dead.

 

Gabranth did not speak to her during the trip. He looked lost in thought, she fancied it was remorse. He had been willing to kill her, after all. More than the blows, more than losing everything she had built, his behaviour hurt Drace. She had liked him. Ever since Landis. She had thought him different. She had thought he would wake up. She had underestimated men’s hunger for power, how easy it was to manipulate them into inhumanity. Deep inside her, she feared what would become of him.

 

She felt the heat of the desert even before the Airship landed in Nalbina. The ruthless Dalmasca Estersands. More soldiers than necessary formed a circle around her and Gabranth as they exited the ship. She walked behind him, and oh the humiliation! She could see the soldiers look at her, what were they thinking? That she was some common criminal, a pirate or worse? She steeled her eyes and held her head high. She was not some kind of Rabanastre low-town scum. Finally, they reached the sealed-off part of the old fortress. Guards lifted the heavy bars, and she was carelessly thrown in. It was done, she did not exist anymore.

Again, she would never learn, she spoke. Her tongue quicker than her caution.

“You will not be visiting him, Gabranth?” He took a sharp intake of breath. “Next time you fly by, come say hello to us.” She had stressed the last word, petty, yet she felt a hint of satisfaction when she heard his breathing quicken. Maybe all hope for Gabranth was not lost. Maybe the ashes of his heart could warm up again.

He did not answer, and the heavy barred door closed down behind him. Drace felt an unwelcome sadness rush over her as Gabranth left, walking back to the ship. Her feet began running on their own accord, running to him, the five steps between her and the door, and her dignity was lost for a second as she rattled the bars. The noise did not startle Gabranth, yet his helmet slightly turned in her direction when she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, “Take care of the Young Lord for me! Please...” and she imagined seeing him nod as the airship sas closed in on him. Larsa. When she thought about him her heart was filled with pain anew. He would know her dead, a Saint. He would grieve and heal through the perfect scenario Vayne had weaved, but what could she do? Even if she escaped, how could she reach him? Drace swallowed back tears. This would lead her nowhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, and that you will follow this fic in its next chapters! A kudo or comment is of course always appreciated ~ <3  
> Also, the fic is not currently finished, but it is 20 chapters long so I decided to start posting it. I will try to keep posting two chapters a week, but the schedule may vary by a day or two depending on real life...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is up, have fun reading and I am sorry for not posting it so late... but I was away enjoying life for once.

Sleeping was not an option. The sun was rising high in the sky, unforgiving. Drace had seen the glances thrown her way as she walked the burning sand floor of the prison. She had to stay focused if she wanted to survive. She had but the barest knowledge of the prison’s structure, and needed to find somewhere relatively safe. Her bandage needed tightening, and she was beginning to feel thirsty. After she wandered for a few minutes, she finally found a spot where she might rest. The stone wall was casting its shadow down on the sand, yet no prisoner sat there. The reason why was a Bangaa’s rotting corpse, lying beside the wall. Drace braced herself. The smell was horrendous, but she had lived through the grime of battle. She could do with that. 

Drace took off her coarse linen tunic, and revealed the white bands around her ribs. The strength Bergan had used to throw her had luckily not been enough to break her ribs, but the bruises were painful. She began unwrapping the bandage, and almost at the end a small piece of paper fell to the floor. Where did it come from? She took the piece of paper, and managed to unfold it even with her wrists bound. 

_ “Down. Search for Barheim Passage to E. Sand. Allies in B. Ask for the King.” _

Drace smiled. She would recognise this handwriting anywhere. ‘ _ You might want to tighten your bandages again in the days to come.’  _ Skillful hands indeed, she had not felt a thing. He had taken many risks for her that day, and she owed him more than ever. 

 

_ It was supposed to be humiliating, but she had the impression of floating above her body, and she was more the witness than the object of said humiliation. She was nothing anymore, stripped of rank and honour before her comrades, but her mind was blank. Drace’s control over herself was strong enough for her not to flinch as skillful hands unbuckled her armour. She could feel the burning gaze of Gabranth on her body, and Bergan’s too, sneering. Vayne’s satisfaction at her shame. Even if this was a better fate than having faceless soldiers degrade her in front of the whole Military before the execution, she had grown accustomed to the protective layer her armour provided. She felt small, vulnerable. Never once did Zargabaath’s eyes met her. He took off her black leather clothes, leaving her in her briefs, vulnerable for all to see, before bandaging the purple bruises marring her chest and back. Vayne seemed to be having fun, imagining that the Judge Magister would feel ashamed carrying this duty. But he was calm, all emotion and personal thoughts locked away behind a protective layer of metal. To keep control over herself, Drace focused on Zargabaath. Better him than Vayne. His hands were light, he knew what he was doing. She would be taken in an anonymous ship to Nalbina, taking off in the dead of the night. Her last hours in the capital spent in a dark cell. Sent off to hell. Zargabaath checked that the bandage was tight enough, she could feel his hands light on her chest, his fingers fidgeting with the cloth. He then took the long linen tunic he had brought, expertly passing it over Drace’s head. She was the perfect anonymous prisoner now.  _

_ “You might want to tighten your bandages again in the days to come,” said Zargabaath, almost apologetic, a hand on Drace’s shoulder. _

_ “If she’s still alive, that is!” shouted Bergan. _

_ Drace felt a shiver down her spine. The Nalbina dungeons were home to common law prisoners as much as to war and political prisoners. It was Gabranth who voiced the question she had been silently asking herself, his voice almost surprised. “Won’t she be kept in the Oubliette?” _

_ Vayne smiled, a predatory grin to rival Bergan’s. “I agreed to spare her, but the Empire has no need for her anymore. And so, she does not need to take space up in the Oubliette.” _

_ “Besides,” laughed Bergan, “It will be much more fun for her in the commons. Oh she’ll wish to have been executed, sure!” Drace felt Zargabaath’s hand tighten on her shoulder.  _

_ Drace felt naked, diminished, her life and career taken from her, yet she kept her head high as she was escorted out of the room. Upon becoming a Judge and later promoted to Magister, she had thought she would die on the battlefield, or protecting her liege. But that was how they died, behind closed doors and well alive. _

  
  


_ “Down. Search for Barheim Passage to E. Sand. Allies in B. Ask for the King.”  _ Drace looked around her. She had heard rumours about this Barheim Passage under Nalbina, but how was she supposed to find it? It had to be guarded. Yet, this trail was better than nothing. Better than staying here and die. There was a way out, and out there Larsa waited for her. It was her duty to survive the upcoming war. She would not let her young lord down. 

Filled with a newfound courage, Drace drew a mental list. First, she had to take these irons off. Then proper clothes, even if that meant taking them off a corpse. Weapons, if she could find any. Lastly, Barheim. 

She stood up, and managed to put her tunic back on. Cleared her throat, and began looking for a way to take the irons off. Surprisingly enough, she found a solution almost at once, in the person of a tall, brutish Seeq. She had first seen a shadow expand over her, soon joined by a pungent smell and the sound of breathing. She turned around at once, and faced the Seeq. He was holding a wooden club, and looked at her hungrily, up and down, his intentions clear. “Are you the welcome committee?” She managed to pull up a cocky grin. “I would gladly fight, but my hands are a bit tied at the moment.” 

The Seeq did not answer, laughed at her face, swinging his mace. Drace jumped right in time to avoid a blow that would have hit her head, only to come in contact with a solid mass that turned out to be another Seeq. They were three now, stinking, grinning. Bergan was right, she thought as she readied her position. This would be fun indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. I will try my best to upload them on mondays and thursdays from now on...  
> Also, don't forget to leave a kudo or comment down, they always make my day brighter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember some of the warnings you read in the tags? Well, this chapter contains: Graphic Depiction of Violence + Attempted Sexual Assault/Rape/Non-Con.   
> I just thought it would be better to warn you again, but I also hope you will be enjoying this chapter.

The fight ended up being more difficult than Drace had anticipated. She was seized up by the arms and brought to some kind of arena by the Seeqs, and thrown face down into the sand. They not only wanted to have her, but also to beat and tenderize her first. She could have lectured them for hours on fairness, but it was not the place. Her bruised ribs were sending waves of pain through her, but she had been trained. I am a Judge Magister, she kept repeating to herself like a mantra, as she dodged the Seeq’s blows. I am the elite. The Seeqs’ strength, she realised, made up for their lack of technique, and it was a three against one. She had to be careful. Drace found out her irons to be quite efficient to block the blows from the crude wooden club. If she managed to break them that way… but the metal was sturdy, and it took several long minutes of dodging and blocking and hitting the Seeqs with the irons for the hinges to creak open. Drace jumped backwards, putting as much distance as possible between her and her enemies. She managed to take the weakened irons off, her wrists in a sorry state, bruised and bloody. But she was free now. Free of her movement, and she swallowed back the pain. The Seeqs seemed to realise that the balance had shifted in her favor, and they began fighting with a newfound fury. Drace could see it in their eyes, the anger at their plaything fighting back. Drace was no plaything, no prey, whatever Vayne and Bergan’s intentions. She was a proud warrior of the Empire. She would fight back, until the bitter end.   
Still she was weakened, and they showed no sign of tiredness. As the fight went on, Drace began feeling her muscles tire, and the sun weighing down on her. A moment of carelessness, and in the blink of an eye one of the Seeq had caught her left arm, twisting the shoulder. She clenched her teeth against the pain, and managed to pull a punch right in his throat. The beast staggered backwards, wheezing. His head hit the wall of the arena, and he fell down. One down. She grinned despite the pain.   
Drace looked at her remaining enemies. The one holding the wooden club was her primary target, and she jumped forward, aiming for the head. Drace’s injured arm and shoulder were becoming more and more painful as they were not secured, and she concluded the articulation might be dislocated. Still, she went on. She had to find a solution, soon. With an artful step to the side, she managed to dodge a blow aimed at her chest, and as the second Seeq got closer, the club hit him square in the face. The bones cracked and he fell. Drace took a sharp intake of breath, her grin larger. Good, good, that one would not get up again anytime soon. The last one was enraged now, and possessed by an unnatural speed, he grabbed the side of Drace’s tunic with his clawed hand, tearing it and sending her flying face first into the sand. She fell onto her bad side, and tried to get up. She could not. Stars dancing in front of her eyes, the sun burning her, pain through her ribs up to her arms and temple. The taste of blood in her mouth. From behind her, she heard a bestial laugh, and the Seeq lifted her off the ground. He slammed her again on the ground, laughing, and she felt her ribs crack. Blood on the sand. She felt the Seeq kneel down behind her, and turn her body around. The sun was blinding her, and her whole body was in pain. She tried to concentrate. She could use the pain. She felt it, if she could concentrate enough, if she could channel it—she felt the Seeq ripping off what remained of her clothes. “Damn!” Oh she’ll wish to have been executed... Concentrate! It cannot end there! Inside her chest, she felt a burning heat of mist. She clenched her eyes shut, she could not be beaten. The Seeq’s breath was down her face and neck, he fumbled with his loincloth, and she felt him take a hold of her legs, his claws piercing the skin of her thighs, pushing them apart. Behind her eyelids, the Seeq had Vayne’s face. Bergan’s. Anger burned with the mist, ravaging.  
The arena shook, blinded by a white light. The ripples from the explosion shook the closest prisoners off their feet and rattled the walls. The Seeq’s body, burnt, dislocated, flew and crashed against a wall.   
Silent minutes passed.  
High on mist, Drace stood up on shaking legs. She gathered around her the tattered remains of her tunic. Quickenings were dangerous when not used properly, but she had not have the choice. Bergan and Vayne were fools if they thought she would not fight back. She was not a piece of meat to be thrown to hungry beasts. Drace picked up the abandoned wooden club, and limped out of the arena, victorious, her body sporting a few cuts and claw marks, purple bruises already taking shapel. Soon, the mist would wear off and she wanted to be somewhere relatively safe when that would happen. She finally collapsed in a dark corner, clutching the club to her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. More action and characters soon! The next chapter should be online Monday 27th.  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated of course ~ <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter!  
> In case you skipped the last chapter, here is a quick summary: (Drace ends up fighting the three Seeqs (Daguza & co), she has the upper hand and wins the fight but with difficulty: she has a few injuries (twisted shoulder, and some more damage to her already bruised ribs.) and she is also weakened and tired because she unleashed a Quickening on the last standing Seeq when he tried to rape her after beating her up.)  
> I will be putting these summaries after each "warnings" chapter, so the reader could go on reading without being lost.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy my beautiful readers!

Drace did not manage to rest well. Her whole body was painful and bruised, she felt drained to the core. She saw the sun set below the dungeon, the night chilling her to the bone. And when the sun rose again, burning her skin, with the fever burning her from inside, she abandoned all hopes of falling asleep. She needed water. She needed to get out. The bandages around her ribs were dirty and bloody, yet she managed to untuck the note from the folds, relatively undamaged. 

_ “Down. Search for Barheim Passage to E. Sand. Allies in B. Ask for the King.”  _

She held it tight in her fist. Down. Zargabaath had thought she would be kept in the Oubliette… Could it be that the « Down » meant below the Oubliette? It was the only clue Drace had. Tucking the note back inside her bandage, she used strips from her torn tunic to secure her left arm. There was not much left of the tunic, but she managed to tie it in a makeshift loincloth around her hips. If she wanted to survive the sun and the desert outside, she needed proper clothes. But to get to the desert, she needed to find the Oubliette. Bracing herself against the pain of her aching muscles, she began exploring. The prisoners were keeping their distances with her, the memory of the fight fresh in their mind. Drace was dangerous, and it was all well like that. 

 

So she began to explore the fortress, empty corridors and dark corners. At one point, deeper inside the dungeon, she heard a familiar noise. The metallic sounds of Archadian armour. Walking guards. Enough to get in trouble, outnumbering any prisoner that would dare come close to the Oubliette. Drace knew that the rank and file of the Archadian army hated the Judge Magisters as much as they respected them. She was injured, and did not want to try her luck against them. She realised how lucky she had been not to attract them with her little show the day before. Leave it to the imperial soldiers to encourage mob justice in a prison. 

 

Drace hid in the shadows then, and observed the soldiers from afar. They seemed to gravitate around a certain area of the fortress, and she had the feeling that the Oubliette could not be far. Drace turned back in search of a place to think and avoid the soldiers. She arrived upon the arena and turned back again. She half-heartedly tried to open a door on her right, which much to her surprise was unlocked. Quickly, she slipped inside and closed it. There, she might have some peace, enough to think and hatch a plan. The room was full of junk. Half-open chests, sacks, piles of cloth. It had to be a kind of confiscatory, thought Drace. After searching for a few minutes admits the mess of the room, Drace found clothes that fit her. Leather pants, made of thinner and cheaper material than what she was used to. Still, she could do with that. It was better than nothing. She also found a light linen tunic out of which she tore brand new bandages for her arm and chest. She felt better already, with clothes on. 

Drace sat down on a dusty sack, and yawned. Her lids were heavy, but she tried to fight sleep off. She had to think of a plan. She had to stay awake.

She had to— 

She slept. Without noticing it, she fell asleep curled on her side, and slept soundly. 

When Drace woke up, her sore muscles ached less. Perhaps sleeping had been a good, if not safe idea after all. Drace left the room tiptoeing back outside. The chilly night air bit at her skin, but she welcomed the distraction. In a few hours, the sun of her third day in Nalbina would rise. She should have been out already, and so she went back exploring. Perhaps in the dead of night would the guards not notice her. 

The guards were indeed fewer in number, and Drace slipped past them unnoticed. She tried to remember the corridors she was taking, drawing a mental map of the dungeon. After several minutes spent wandering in the dark corridors, Drace found herself in front of a guarded door. The door was intricate, embedded with runes, and she could only imagine the locking spell, a very powerful magic. That would be a problem. 

Drace went back to her hiding spot. Once in the small room, the door closed, she let out a long sigh. She was no mage, even if she was -when compared to most people- able to cast basic offensive spells and a few advanced protection ones. The door was not barred by a simple spell. It was most likely specific magic, maybe even a unique spell. It had to be the doors to the Oubliette. Now, all she had to do was find a way to slip past the door. Hours passed, yet Drace found no solution. The pain from her injuries was slowly sipping out of her body, leaving her weary. She felt as if she needed to sleep for centuries before she would feel rested. Her heart pulsed with fear for her Young Lord. Her head was hit by waves of anger and frustration born of her powerlessness. Worst, the thirst she had managed to forget was coming back full force, accompanied by a gnawing hunger. Humes are few things, Drace thought, to be so easily weakened. 

Yet Drace was a Magister, and a proud one. So her hunger and headache be damned, she thought. She turned her problem around and around until she found the solution. She almost shouted in victory. It was so simple! She could lure a guard in a dark corner, knock him out and take his armor! She would have no problem passing off as an imperial soldier. She smirked. Once in disguise, she would slip past the door at the first occasion. She might even get to steal food and potions! Drace was proud of herself. It had been years since she had felt this feeling of excitement coursing through her veins, since her first missions as a young Judge fresh out of the Akademy. 

It was still early morning when Drace began to hunt down her prey, wooden club in hand. She settled on a lonely guard, leaning against the wall of a corridor, seemingly bored. Hidden behind a corner, she whistled sharply. He turned his head, surprised, but upon seeing nothing, did not move. She whistled again and this time, taking up his spear, he walked up to the source of the noise. She was of course faster than him, using the element of surprise to grab him and tackle him to the ground, knocking him out in the process. The armor made a significant noise when the guard fell down, but luckily for Drace nobody seemed to hear it. She was busy taking the armor off the guard and buckling it on herself when she noticed the commotion coming from the commons. Noises of a fight. She was lucky, yet there was also a downside. If the fight took important proportions, the guards would be on edge and her cover would not hold for long. She had to get that door open, now or never. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and feel free to leave a kudo or comment, they always make me happy! Next chapter should be up on Thursday 30th.  
> Also, I have now finished writing the 25th chapter. This fic is getting long, too long. XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter, I hope you all like it! Have fun!

The armor was not perfectly fitting, too small, pressing against her painful ribs, keeping her arm in a position that would not help it heal, chafing her already damaged wrists, but Drace had more pressing matters to attend. She would mourn her custom-tailored armour later. She hurried to the magically sealed door, trying to look as natural as possible. 

Her disguise must have been perfect, as Drace was called by the guard standing at the door the moment she was in view.

“You! Is he coming now?”

_ Who the hell—  _ “Soon.” A vague answer was better than nothing.

The guard grunted, and Drace had to fight a pesky fit of curiosity. Was someone important coming? How important? Could it be… no no it could not be. Slowly, as she stepped at the door, besides the other guard, her curiosity turned into dread. 

Heavy footsteps. 

Sweat began to pool down her neck, the heat of the helmet not helping. These footsteps, this metal, she would know them amidst one thousand. Her skin lost all color, and she hoped to the Father that her trembling was not noticeable. 

She had not thought he would come back.

She had been joking.

He had another reason to be here.

There was no way he would recognise her. 

Gabranth was flanked by several soldiers, and in front of him walked an Imperial Magus. 

For a split second, surprised and scared as she was, Drace forgot her plan. Yet now was her chance. If she could slip in with them, she would be inches away from that Passage. With enough imagination she could have felt the cold subterranean air. She mentally slapped herself. Since when was she so easily distracted? 

The imperial mage was now casting a long and complicated opening spell, and Drace observed Gabranth. He was unnerved, if his posture told her anything. Tired too, and uneasy.  _ He does not want to be here…  _ Drace wondered what had happened during her short absence. Why was Gabranth returning so soon? Drace wanted to ask him, to offer counsel. As much as she found Gabranth infuriating sometimes, she still liked him. Well, she used to like him. She remembered all too well the blade against her chest. Whatever they had had, was in the past. While her brain was trying its best to make her distracted from the current danger, Drace fell into step behind Gabranth’s escort. The guard beside her followed too. Maybe it was expected. Gabranth himself did not seem to notice them, too busy thinking and brooding. Drace could see it in his bearing. She remained at the rear of the escort, yet her ears picked up shuffling noises in the shadows behind her. She had to be careful, as careful as possible. She could not lose, not now that she was so close. 

 

At last, they were in the Oubliette. First came the smell. The pungent, putrid smell. The smell of decaying corpses and agonizingly slow deaths. The smell of despair and fear itself. Drace glanced at the rusted cages, the shackles dangling inside. She felt her stomach twist with shame and disgust. This was the empire she had been fighting for. She had known about this, but how convenient it was to forget and look away! Finally, Drace laid eyes on the lonely prisoner hanging in a cage. He seemed to her the shadow of his former self, and she had barely caught a glimpse or two of the Captain in his full glory before the war. Yet he was alive, holding on after two years of torment. She felt a wave of pity for him. She had been against that particular plan. She had tried to convince Gabranth… but Vayne had been smarter and knew better than anybody else to twist brothers against each other. Maybe, mused Drace, it was then she had started to lose Gabranth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, the next one should be on Monday 3rd :)   
> Of course, kudos and comments are always loved <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter!   
> The plot thickens... well maeybe, maybe not. Let's say things happen.  
> Enjoy!

Slowly, deliberately, Gabranth took his helmet off, looked at last at his brother, and Drace could only imagine the hatred in his eyes, mirrored by his disdainful voice. 

“You have grown very thin Basch.” Drace sighed. It was not by hurting his brother that Gabranth himself would feel better. She knew him too well, yet could not understand why he would put himself through this. “Less than a shadow, less than a man.” Basch did not answer, not even looking at his brother. The iron shackles around his shoulders and neck must have been extremely painful, thought Drace. Straining the muscles, preventing him from completely lifting his head. Gabranth went on speaking:

“Sentenced to death and yet you live. Why?”  _ He is not the only one Gabranth… or is your memory that short?  _ She could not say that it was a custom of the empire, to keep traitors alive in case they could come in handy for a complicated political scheme… but it was not uncommon either. 

“To silence Ondore. How many times must I say it?!”

“Is that all?”

Basch finally lifted his head, his eyes meeting Gabranth’s, steely and cold. “Why not ask Vayne himself? Is he not one of your masters?” Drace saw Gabranth’s neck stiffen, and she bit her lip, remembering words uttered a few days ago…  _ Do as your master commands, Gabranth. I care not.  _ Oh, how harsh they could be! Gabranth growled, and she imagined that beyond the direct insult, he too, remembered. 

“We’ve caught a leader of the Insurgence. She is being brought from Rabanastre. The woman Amalia.”

Basch seemed, for a split second, to react at the name, but he said nothing. Things happened so quickly, thought Drace! If that insurgent had been caught in Rabanastre, it must have been during’s Vayne’s introduction as Consul. Two days, if she remembered the schedule, two days after her disgrace. Yesterday evening, she thought, and so you were quick to come back. 

Gabranth, growing impatient, asked, still keeping his voice controlled: “Who could that be?” The insurgence had grown bold for sure, if they attacked Vayne on such a day. Bold or stupid, she thought, to fall into his trap. Sometimes the two were the same. Basch did not answer, his head low again. It must have run in their blood, this undying faithfulness. 

“Such a faithful hound to cling so to a fallen kingdom.”

“Better than throwing it away!” Basch did not even try to disguise the anger in his voice. Gabranth quickly put his helmet back on, a desperate way to protect himself from his emotions. No one to see his face, his pain.

“Throwing it away? Like you threw away our homeland?” He turned back.

Drace felt tears in her eyes, and she managed to convince herself it was because of the smell of the Oubliette and not because of the scene unfolding in front of her eyes.  _ Gabranth you poor idiot…  _ She wanted to comfort him, against all odds. He, who would have thrown her into such a cage upon his master’s orders. She was quite the fool too, then. The memory was still fresh in her mind, him, standing over her with her sword in hand, ready to thrust. Ready to kill. Fools. 

Gabranth and his suite were heading back out of the Oubliette. Now was the moment to act. Drace lingered behind as they left, hiding in the shadows. If she was lucky, it would take them a few minutes to notice her disappearance. Gabranth himself would never notice, not when he was caught up like this in his internal turmoil. But the other soldiers… they had to be on edge. 

Again, Drace felt a presence behind her. But it was too late now, and she stepped out of the shadows and towards the dark hole under the cages. The way out. A most-likely deadly jump. From his cage, Basch eyed her suspiciously. 

“Who’s there?” 

Drace was trying to think of a way to escape, so she did not answer at once. She saw a lever, and upon studying it, she concluded that it would be used to drop the cages into the Passage. If she managed to climb into one, then hit the lever with a spell— 

Something hit her from behind. Not much strength, but a dull pain through her neck and skull, the echo of the vibration through the metal helmet deafening her. 

But it was not enough to knock her out, and she turned back in an instant, hitting her invisible opponent with the blunt strength of her good arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter, and I might repeat myself, but I do really enjoy the kudos and comments, they make me feel so happy!  
> Also, I have been a bit stuck in writing the next chapters (25 onwards) recently, but I'll keep the updates coming at the same rate. Next one on Thursday 6th)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter? I am updating this fic on time? Wonderful!  
> I hope you enjoy reading, and I apologise that these first chapters are not longer.

A boy hit the wall with the sheer force of her hit. He cried out in pain, Basch gasped from inside his cage. A boy. Drace almost felt bad for hitting him, but he had attacked her first. Her fighting instincts were engraved too deep into her being. 

She cast quick glances around. Three people. A viera? Surprising. The third one… it could not be him.  _ Him.  _ Drace lowered her fighting stance. He had barely changed. What was he doing here, in this godforsaken dungeon? He was too good a sky pirate to be caught like a common thief. “Ffam—”

Distracted by the memories, Drace was not able to dodge the boy who charged at her again. He knocked her off her feet with the sheer force of his body, straddling her chest, and he managed to take her helmet off, half-choking her, bruising her neck and forehead. A punch came in contact with her jaw, then a second, her throat, a third, her jaw again. He was shouting insults at her -bastard, bloody imperial- hitting her face relentlessly. Blood in her mouth. Clumsy hits, no technique, but she was weakened and tired, and she did not manage to throw him off her. 

“Now now Vaan, let’s be civilised for once.”

The boy -Vaan- protested, but weakened his grip on Drace and she managed to push him off her. She could not get up, her whole body heavy, feeling dizzy. Her mouth full of blood, her head pulsating with pain, she tried to speak. “Ffam— Ffamran…” Drace coughed, blood trickling down her lips. 

Footsteps came closer to her, “Now, whoever you are,” his silhouette looking down on her with disdain. “It’s not because I intercede in your favor,” he crouched beside her to get a better look, “that you are allowed to call me—” He got back up in the blink of an eye, “You?! No, it can’t be, it’s impossible!” and regained his composure as quickly as he had lost it. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by his viera companion. 

“We must hurry. We are making too much noise,” stated the Viera in her softly accented voice. Somewhere deep in her memory, Drace remembered a name, Fran. Pirate companions.

Ffamran opened his mouth as if to speak. Vaan had now jumped on Basch’s cage and was angrily shouting, about Dalmasca and dead people, rattling the bars. That boy sure was angry about his life. Basch himself was speaking too, urging Famran and his companions to free him. The shouts were echoing through Drace’s head, sending bolts of pain behind her eyes. Feeling herself close to fainting, Drace gathered what little energy she had left to grab Ffamran’s arm and say: “Gabranth. He will come back. The way out is down…” The words were almost whispered, the pain was too much. The hunger, the thirst. She felt herself slip out of consciousness, Ffamran’s face unreadable above hers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Next one will be on Monday the 10th.   
> Writing update: I finished the chapter XXV, and that slow burning romance is starting to take shape! Hooray!
> 
> I also thank you so much for your comments and kudos, they make me so happy!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter! Things are happening, the plot is moving... enjoy!

Drace regained consciousness when a searing pain shot through her already abused body. She bit her lip to prevent a moan. Dust in the air, the echo of shattering metal and stone. The taste of blood was overwhelming. She was alive, that much was certain. With great effort, she opened her eyes. Far above her was a hole, and she realised she had fallen down the Oubliette. But how? Her head was too painful to think.  _ Down. Search for Barheim Passage.  _ She closed her eyes again. She should be getting up, she should escape. Her eyes closed, she began to focus more on the sounds around her. Shuffling noises, moans of pain. She was not alone.  _ So they took me down with them... _

A shout then. Angry, and more noise to follow. Drace’s head pounded with the pain. 

Using all her energy, she sat up and re-opened her eyes. Four silhouettes around her, and the boy -Vaan, her memory supplied- was straddling Basch’s body. Ffamran was chastising him. He had not changed much, mused Drace. As improbable as it was… he was still the same young man she had known. The same manners, the same voice. Whatever the mess he was now caught in, Drace was glad he was alive and well. 

She heard the boy protest: “—but he’s a—” 

“A traitor. I know. Stay here and fight, if you want.” Ffamran turned towards Basch, saying: “If you can walk, let’s go.”

“You’re taking him with us?” shouted Vaan, incredulous and angry.

“We could use another sword arm,» answered Ffamran in lieu of explanations. He was not wrong, mused Drace. Who knew what creatures crawled in the abandoned Barheim Passage? Even thin and weakened, Basch remained a knight, and one should not underestimate his strength. 

“And you have it.” Of course Basch would not let the occasion pass. A few hours ago, he had probably not dreamt of seeing the sunlight ever again. Drace did not know what to think about him. He was supposed to be her enemy. He had been her enemy. But maybe now, he could help her. Together, they had still a chance to save Gabranth.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Vaan step away from Basch, brooding. Now, Ffamran was walking closer to her. Hands on his hips, he looked at her up and down. Drace imagined what a sorry sight she was giving him.

“Not that I am interested, but how did you end up in such a state, wearing a foot soldier's armor in the Nalbina Dungeons,  _ your Honor? _ ” The stress on the last two words made her flinch internally. Ffamran had never forgiven the Empire.

Drace tried to think of an answer. It was painful to think. Something short. “Vayne.”

Famran looked at her with mocked surprise. “Vayne sent you here?”

Drace shook her head. “We had a disagreement. I am—” she coughed, spitting some blood. “I am supposed to be dead.” For a second, Ffamran looked genuinely shocked and sorry. Drace pointed to her armor. “Disguised as a guard to escape. I didn’t plan on running into you.”

Ffamran sighed, Drace could see the hesitation in his eyes. “I have no reason to trust you, you know. You could very well be sent to spy on the resistance. You were with Gabranth’s escort after all.”

Drace closed her eyes. “I know.” She coughed again. Her ribs were even more painful than before, they must have cracked during the fall. “Leave me here.”

“Listen, Drace. You are white as a corpse, and Vaan’s idiotic punches cannot have done that much damage. If we take kingslayers with us, we might as well trust supposedly disgraced Magisters for a little while.”

She smiled at the irony. Even such a simple gesture was painful. “I will not be of much use.” 

Ffamran shrugged. “We are not leaving you here to die. If you can walk…” 

Drace got up on shaking legs, fighting a fit of dizziness. “I will do my best.”

“But she’s an Imperial soldier! Imperials are all—” began to shout Vaan only to be silenced by Ffamran. 

“I. Told. You. To. Spare. Us. Your. Quiddities.” He then turned towards Drace. “Oh by the way, the name’s Balthier now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter, feel free to leave comments and kudos, I always love them.   
> And a special shoutout to my beta, who is helping me so much on that fic!   
> Anyway, next chapter should be up on Thursday 13th


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter, it is slightly longer than the previous one, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

A new name. It made sense, for a new life. For Drace, he would always be Ffamran mied Bunansa, but she had better get acquainted with Balthier, if it was his wish. 

Cautious, the group moved away from the cage and the rumble. Drace’s legs were not obeying her as well as she would have wished, but she walked on, following. After less than a minute, they met a vagabond bangaa who claimed to be a merchant, but her head was too painful to listen to his ramblings. Balthier still took a few minutes to exchange some gil for healing supplies and goods. In the meantime, Drace rested against a pillar. Even breathing was painful. They set to walk again, and was it her slowly losing eyesight or was the corridor becoming darker and darker? 

“Hey!” shouted Vaan out of the blue. “Who turned out the lights?” He looked around, and pointed to a insectoid creature in the corner. “One of those?”

Balthier then settled on lecturing him on the danger of mimics and their craving for energy. Drace knew all of that already, basic training, basic enemies. “… and it gets worse in the dark, much worse.” Drace stopped listening again, her head pounding like a church bell. The fever had not decreased, and it was a miracle she was still standing. At one point, Balthier mentioned a sword. They would have to fight the mimics to get the energy back to the lights and the doors. Right, it made sense, even to her weakened self. 

They fought, then. Or to be exact, Drace stayed behind and dodged the monsters, hitting only when necessary. Each swing of her arm with the injured shoulder sent stars flying in front of her vision. The pain made her fight slow and clumsy. Still, they were lucky, crossing corridor after section without too much trouble. The bombs in the Passage seemed peaceful enough and did not attack on sight. At one point, she heard a cry of pain behind her. It seemed that a stray flan had managed to take a hold of Vaan’s right ankle, probably twisting it. Proud, the boy refused to stop and limped on. 

It was going well —too well. They came across three battery mimics, but at the last moment, Vaan stepped on a concealed magick trap. He fell down with a cry. The temporary spell disorientated him, and one of the mimic lunged forward, latching itself to Vaan’s badly protected chest. The boy screamed, the heart-wrenching sound of the first really serious wound he had. Balthier managed to shoot the mimic without hurting Vaan more, but the fight was far from over. Neither Basch nor Drace had weapons, and the two remaining mimics, charged with energy, were attacking relentlessly. Fran loaded her bow and struck one down, while Drace tried to dodge the third, but failed, the pain and fever distracting her.

Too late, Drace felt the mimic’s electric bite where the collar of the armor left some part of her neck and shoulder exposed. She doubled over in pain, stars dancing in front of her eyes. The mimic attacked again, taking advantage of her weakness, and she cried out as another electric charge coursed through her body. She managed to swing her good arm with enough strength to throw it away from her. Balthier turned around, and expertly shot the mimic. Drace was breathless. She had to go on, but her whole body was screaming at her to stop.  To lie down and wait for something, anything to happen. Behind Balthier, she could see Vaan, limping, pale, clutching his bloody chest. The boy needed to rest, and if they had enough medical supplies, he needed a bandage, badly. It was Basch who voiced her concern first:

“They cannot go on anymore.” Balthier hummed in answer, and Basch went on:

“We have enough power for now. Two of us can go scouting and securing the passage while the third helps—”

“I’m not letting you touch me traitor!” shouted Vaan, putting more distance between him and Basch. 

“Actually,” said Balthier, “He is right Vaan. How about you two,” he pointed at Basch and Fran, “go scouting while I take care of our cry-babies?” 

“I am not a—” began Vaan, before a murderous glance shut him up. Basch and Fran nodded their consent in unison, and after Fran had given Balthier some medical supplies from her pack, they disappeared down the dark tunnels. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter :D The next one will be on Monday, and in the meantime, feel free to drop a kudo or comment, my overworked self will love that <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter, slightly longer, and, I hope, enjoyable!

When Basch and Fran were gone, Drace let herself fall down, her back against the wall. Her breathing was erratic, she felt drained of all energy. Now that she was sitting, she did not feel like getting up anytime soon, and hoped that no stray monster would attack them. Vaan sat down too, his movements uneasy. He glanced suspiciously at Drace, but she had closed her eyes and would not have cared anyway. Balthier looked down on the both of them. He rummaged through his pack and through Fran’s supplies, before taking a step closer to Drace. She opened an eye and said, her voice too weak for her own liking:

“Take care of him first. I can wait.”

Balthier shot an eyebrow up. “Your injuries seem worse than his.”

“I am used to pain.” Not him, was the unsaid subtext.  _ He is just a kid… _

Balthier sighed, muttering under his breath about the stupidity of selflessness. He turned to Vaan then, and despite his protests, began cleaning and bandaging the wounds on his chest and his twisted ankle. Drace drifted in and out of consciousness in the meantime, her thoughts coming back to Larsa. She felt a gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach, not knowing where he was, if he was safe, with whom… He was supposed to travel with Ghis… but what if Vayne…

After agonizingly long minutes, Balthier finished treating Vaan. The boy had a pristine bandage around his chest and his ankle was less swollen. Balthier gave him a potion 

“There. It should replenish your energy.”

Vaan took it gratefully and drank the healing liquid in a few gulps. Drace watched him, her own throat parched by thirst, on fire. She could wait. 

Balthier shuffled through his pack again, and went to her side. He was silent at first, assessing the severity of the few injuries he could see. There was no way to heal Drace properly without taking her armour away, and their eyes met, sharing the thought. Drace nodded. “Go ahead.”

Balthier studied the armour, and shrugged. “The quality dropped.” Drace could not help a chuckle, but her ribs sent a wave of pain through her and at the end it was more a pained whimper. Balthier had begun to unbuckle the feet, legs and hips parts of the armour, quickly and efficiently. In the span of three days, mused Drace, twice she had had her armour removed by someone else than her. She hoped it would not become a habit. She helped Balthier take off her thin leather trousers. Since the armor had been too small for her, the articulated parts had cut through the clothes she had put on and she bore bloody cut marks around the heels and below the knees. “These are just cuts, you don’t need to…” Quickly, without listening to her, Balthier applied salve over them. It tingled, but her head and chest were so painful that Drace did not really notice it. Balthier’s eyes swept up over her searching for other injuries. His eyes stopped on two red claw marks on Drace’s thighs, where the Seeq had grabbed her, and stifled a gasp. Drace looked down. She had not paid attention to any of the marks after that particular fight, but the intent behind the gesture which had left the claw marks was obvious. They left nothing to the imagination, and Balthier glanced up, his eyes meeting Drace’s, pained, seeking answers or approval. She knew her eyes were shining with the fever and clouded by pain, not a pretty sight to behold, but she had trouble conveying anything else. She would tell him the whole story later. Still, she weakly nodded and he applied slave there too in a few swift motions, the muscles of her thighs instinctively twitching under his touch. 

“I will try to take the upper part of the armour as painlessly as I possibly can now.” 

“Just make it quick,” answered Drace as she held her breath. Her eyes clenched shut, she felt Balthier unbuckle and separate the pauldrons from the chest plate. A few tears fell on her cheeks. Her whole rib cage protested against the movements, it was as if the armour was a second skin Balthier was tearing off her living corpse. Yet she was trained to endure pain, and not a sound escaped her clenched teeth and white lips. In one swift movement, Balthier also disposed of her tunic. She released the breath she had been holding, and opened her eyes again. 

Her left shoulder was red and swollen, probably dislocated. No wonder she could not properly fight. She had done more harm than good putting the armour on. The skin of her wrists was raw and bloody, and Balthier healed and bandaged them first. 

Only then did Drace notice Vaan’s eyes on her, studying her, suspicious yet awed at her bulk and at the galaxy of scars on her body. She wanted to tell him to look away, that it was thanks to him that her jaw, chin and half of her face was swollen and purplish in colour. She wanted to tell him that most injuries were superficial, and not that terrible. She felt shame wash over her, and lowered her head. She made quite a poor Magister, to fall for so little.

Without words, Balthier applied salve on yet another claw mark on Drace’s flank, where the Seeq had grabbed her tunic. 

“I will put your shoulder back in place now.” 

Drace did not answer, not that Balthier was waiting for it. He took a hold of her arm and shoulder and expertly twisted them back into place, the sound and the pain making Drace nauseous. Even Vaan looked away, cringing.

Balthier applied salve to the mimic bites, before starting to take off the bandages around her ribs, leaving the black cloth supporting her breasts intact. The bruises looked bad, an angry bluish purple. Balthier touched several spots on her chest and back, testing, and she winced in pain. They were definitely cracked. He sent a questioning look her way. 

“Mostly Bergan. He has the strength of a Behemoth. Fighting Seeqs do not help either.” Balthier shook his head, and showed her, caught between two of his fingers, the folded note. Realising what it was, Drace gestured with her head for him to read. He did so first in silence, then out loud. “ _ Down. Search for Barheim Passage to E. Sand. Allies in B. Ask for the King.  _ So this explains that,” he mused, his voice rising barely above a whisper. He must have recognised the handwriting too, she thought. He locked eyes with her. “Do not think that I yet trust you. It seems strange that a Magister would fall from grace at the moment the rebellion stirs, and find herself in the same place as a pawn key to Dalmasca’s demise. It makes too many coincidences for my tastes.”

Drace nodded. The words pained her more deeply than her wounds, but she had to admit that Balthier’s reasoning made sense. He was smart, a scheming Archadian if she knew any. “I would think no less of you. And I ask not for trust.” He handed her the note back.

Balthier got up then, took a breath. “There’s not much to do for your bruises. Mostly cracked bones and internal bleeding. I would try a healing spell.”

Drace braced herself as the refreshing wave of the Cura hit her. She felt the pain subside instantly into a dull ache. She would still need time for her ribs to properly heal, but they were not a danger to her health anymore. She touched her face, feeling it less swollen thanks to the spell. Quickly, Balthier bandaged her ribs again with fresh linen. 

“Thank you Balthier.”

“You will thank me later.” Balthier threw a potion at Drace, which she drank gratefully. She was so thirsty she did not care about the earthy, fermented taste of the potion. 

She got up gingerly, testing her legs. She was happy to find them no longer shaking. She genuinely felt better, and put on her borrowed clothes. She looked at the discarded armour. She was better without it anyway. She trusted her fists well enough to not need a weapon now. With enough luck she might find one anyway. 

Now that she was feeling better, she noticed that the light in the room had diminished, and was becoming even dimmer. She pointed it out to Balthier. Vaan looked at them in turn as they exchanged silent thoughts through their eyes. It was not normal, Fran and Basch must have run into trouble. Maybe, thought Drace, he does not trust me yet, but there are instincts, trainings that are never forgotten. Balthier tilted his head towards the tunnel and she slowly nodded. They suddenly took off running in the direction where Fran and Basch had disappeared. Vaan followed behind, a question lost on his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the late-ish posting, but I was so sick I could not bring myself to do it sooner, even if my awesome beta gave me her corrections on time... Next chapter should be on Thursday, fingers crossed I'm no longer sick by then!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless, and feel free to leave kudos and comments, I always love to hear your feelings and opinions on the fic!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably my longest chapter for now! I hope you will like it :)

They ran. Drace knew that she had to be cautious, she had not yet recovered, but her muscles were answering her every command, and she no longer felt like a weak burden. Of course, her ribs were hurting her, and she was breathless from such a short run, but she could do with that.

They ran into a dark crossroads, and stopped. Vaan opened his mouth to speak but Balthier silenced him with a gesture of the hand. Behind them, the light was dying out. From further in the darkness, Drace heard noises. Balthier heard them too. Metallic sound and horrible screeches. 

They followed the noises, no longer running. They could not afford to be seen or heard, if they wanted to surprise whatever was fighting down there. They managed to walk past a few unaware zombies. After a few minutes that seemed far too long, they arrived in a dark operational sector. Electricity coursed through the air, and two abnormally big battery mimics were holding Basch and Fran at bay. They did not seem injured, but something was amiss. Drace could see they had trouble dodging the mimics’ hits. 

“A blinding trap,” she growled. 

Vaan looked quizzically at her. Balthier whispered a “makes sense”, before arming his pistol. In the meantime, Drace concentrated her energy and, caution be damned, cast an Esuna towards Fran. The healing spell engulfed the Viera, and a shot rang, piercing the closest battery mimic. The advantage of surprise was gone now, but one of the monsters was badly injured. Drace began casting again as Fran readied her bow. Vaan joined the melee, and by the time the Esuna hit Basch, one of the two mimics was down. It took the four of them a few seconds to get rid of the last one. 

“Thank you,” said Basch, breathless. “That trap took us by surprise.”

“We noticed the lights had changed and figured something had happened to the two of you,” answered Balthier. “Now that we are all on our feet again, how about we proceed onwards?” 

Nobody answered but they all four started walking back to the main corridor. The light was back at its normal level, scaring the bats and other pesky monsters away. 

They took the main corridor down, and were lucky to have enough electricity to lift a barred gate. 

It looked like they had arrived at a junction in the Passage, a large portion of the corridor in the centre of which stood a blue crystal. She found the presence of the crystal soothing. It had familiarity, it was like a sliver of hope and civilisation in this dark place. Without waiting for her companions, she walked to it and touched the blue cold surface, letting the mist flow through her body, dulling the ache in her ribs to almost nothing, relaxing her whole body. Soon, she was joined by the others and they stood there, unmoving, letting the magic of the crystal restore their energy and fighting will. 

“The Mist seethes,” commented Fran, who had taken a few steps away from the crystal and towards what had to be the way out. 

“It reeks,” added Balthier with all the flare of Archadian nobility. “Something’s close.” 

So they would have to fight soon. Drace trusted a Viera’s instincts, even more so if said Viera was a sky pirate. Drace was ready, as ready as she could be in this place. 

While they were packing and checking their stuff, the goods scavenged in the Passage, Basch approached a corpse lying a few feet away from them in the corridor. From the corner of her eye, Drace saw him take the light armor the corpse was wearing and his clothes and put them on. She smiled. They were not so different. Bash also took the dead man’s sword, and tried its weight with a few swings. His moves were precise, born of years of practice. Yes, even after two years in a cage, he was still a knight in all but rank. 

Balthier too noticed him, and said, irony weighing down his words, “Nice moves here Captain.”

“You mean traitor,” Vaan snapped with venom in his voice.

Balthier crossed his arms, tired of the boy’s demeanor. “So they say. But I didn’t see him kill anyone.”

Vaan looked at Basch, then at Balthier, then at the floor. His voice was lower, sad, and Drace felt anger and remorse wash over her. “My brother did.” Casualty of war. Was she selfish to wish it to be only a number on a report? She was angry at herself, angry at Vayne. Humes be damned for their foolish power craving.

Basch gasped, surprised, and looked up, had his eyes set on Vaan, not yielding against the furious glare.

“Reks. He said he had a brother two years younger. I see. He meant you. Your brother. What became-”

Casualty.   
“He’s dead,” spat Vaan, his voice too serious for a boy his age. Too much suffering.

“I'm sorry,” answered Basch, genuinely hurt. Drace could feel it, the love for his men, the two years long guilt. Vaan, on the other hand, was rage itself. 

“It was you who killed him!”    
Basch took a tentative step forward. He looked taller, closer to a knight. On his way to restore truth. As if words would be enough to convince a grieving soul. “I give you my word: that was not the way of it.” 

Oh no indeed, thought Drace, It was not you… but such a successful operation that your image will never come clean.    
Basch then started to talk, telling the story of how they had tried to save king and kingdom. Two years of bitterness and despair, spilling out. Two years of loneliness, the need for human contact. The need for somebody to believe him.

Drace did not listen closely to what he was saying. His side of the story must have been interesting, but she already knew the facts. And she remembered clearly the bitter fights she had had with Gabranth during the weeks before that fateful night. War weighing down on them, straining their relationship as Vayne controlled Gabranth like a puppet.

Still, Drace heard the raw pain in Basch’s voice as he recalled his liege’s death and his fall from grace. He had sat down at one point during his story, beaten by his own feelings. War was unfair with them all. Drace felt unwanted guilt gnaw at her insides. Balthier, towering over Basch, his pose mockingly thoughtful, voice forever calm and controlled, said:   
“A twin brother? Fancy that. But still, the pieces fit. I’ll give you that much. And he did look like you.”

And you knew him, thought Drace, but you value keeping up masks… you would have been a fit choice for the Ninth.   
Vaan was looking away, hiding his emotions from the group, his voice raw as he said: “I don’t believe you.”

Before Basch could apologise to Vaan, Drace interrupted him:

“Me, I do believe you.  I was there.” All eyes turned to her. “In the weeks before the king’s assassination. Gabranth had to grow his beard and hair to look like you. He hated it. He could not even look at his reflection in the mirror. Vayne had infused so much hatred into him—” Drace was aware that her voice was thick with emotion, but did not plan on hiding it. These moments had been difficult for her too, being the accomplice of a ploy she disapproved of. Watching Gabranth fade away into the shadow of Vayne.

Basch’s eyes were fixed on Drace, and his voice too was heavy. “You… you knew my brother. You are not a simple Imperial.” 

Drace sighed. She wanted to snap at him, it was her grief as much as his, but it seemed to her that the man they had known and loved was a different one.  _ Yes, and I was there when you had abandoned him _ , she wanted to answer, petty, her heart speaking. She wanted to lash out to him, an easy target, while Vayne was the only man responsible. Drace was not stupid enough to think life had been easier in Dalmasca for Bash as it has been in Archades for Gabranth. “Yes,” she answered. “We were more than comrades, we were... friends. Now... ” her voice trailed off, “...now I don’t recognise him anymore.”

Basch tentatively smiled at her, and Drace returned it. Oh, how deeply her hatred for Vayne ran! He would pay for his crimes, and she would be the one to carry out the judgement. 

Balthier sighed, interrupting the moment. “So, since it seems to be the moment of truth and the falling of masks, could you please entertain us with your story,  _ Your Honor. _ ” So they were back to titles. Balthier hated not to be the centre of attention, but worse, thought Drace, he hated when things came too close to his own past. She could understand his shame, and wanted to help him. Running away had never been the solution. She made a mental note to speak to him later. 

Yet, Drace cleared her throat. “I’ll stick to recent events only.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and feel free to leave kudos and comments, I always answer and love to hear your opinions!   
> My health is getting better, so I will be back to writing soon, and since it is already written, the next chapter will be on Monday 24... Monday 24 happens also to be my first day of seminars... oh the joy of writing during the school year!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter, enjoy my dear readers!

“As you probably guessed from the title Batlhier used on me,” began Drace,  “I am a Magister. I was known as Judge Magister Drace.”

“So you are truly a Judge? » interrupted Vaan, repeating incredulously. He must have a hard time reconciling the image of Gabranth in full armour and of her battered carcass under a same name. 

Drace nodded. “Formerly so. You met one in full gear and glory earlier, Gabranth. Basch’s twin brother.” 

“Balthier told me about them.” He could barely keep the hatred out of his voice. “You are not Judges. You are killers.” 

Smart boy, thought Drace. He was not wrong by all means, and even if by disgrace the majority of Archadian people thought Drace softer than her comrades, and even if she despised useless violence, they were trained to kill. She had killed in the past, without remorse. Upon an order, without looking back. For the Empire. Armed killers indeed. Amongst other things. Yet now was not the time to explain that to Vaan. He would realise sooner or later that their world was made of shifting grey, and much more complex than it seemed. 

And so she told them the story of how she ended up in the dungeon, her memories threatening to overwhelm her.

***

_ It could have been a day like any other. Drace had woken up to court reports and a mountain of unfinished paperwork. Larsa had left for Bhujerba with Ghis in the early hours of morning. Drace was not especially happy about this. She had agreed to the journey, of course, it would be a good experience for her young Lord. But she was suspicious of the interest Vayne and Draklor seemed to have in the Lhusu Mines, and did not want Larsa to end up in trouble. He had already enough problems, between his brother’s hunger for power and the Senators trying to subdue him. Drace was constantly on edge. In every shadow could be hiding a potential threat. Even more so since the Ninth Bureau had found proof of the insurgence against the Empire stirring in both Rabanastre and Bhujerba. Drace really did not want to let go of her precious liege under such circumstances.  _

_ Drace got up from her seat. She really could not concentrate. She got out of her quarters, her identity and angry scowl well hidden behind her helmet. There, she met Gabranth. They remained silent for a few minutes, enjoying a cup of tea Gabranth had prepared in the debriefing room. _

_ A knock on the door, suddenly. Gabranth injuncted the newcomer to enter. It was a palace guard, who sharply saluted them.  _

_ “Your Honors, His Excellency Lord Vayne summons you to his private quarters immediately!” Gabranth nodded, quickly putting his helmet back on. Drace took more time. Could it be that important? She hoped not. A feeling of dread crept through her, almost panic. Yes, it had to be important if it was an immediate summon. Could it be about Larsa? Had something happened? She pressed on, getting to Vayne’s quarters before Gabranth, taking her helmet off again to salute whoever was there in one quick gesture. _

_ Once in the antechamber, the first sight that caught Drace’s attention was a corpse. A corpse wearing the servant’s uniforms, Vayne towering above him, and keeping their distance were Bergan and Zargabaath.  _

_ Finally, Gabranth entered the room, breathless. The doors closed in behind him. _

_ Now, Vayne had his spectators. He looked at each Judge in turn, and began speaking, his voice perfectly controlled. “Imagine my surprise this morning, when I discovered this rat here, uninvited in my private quarters.” Vayne nudged the corpse with his foot. “This servant was tough, I must admit, but he spilled his reason for coming in due time. He had been sent by, would you believe it, some of our honoured Senators, to spy on me. He confessed that the Senate has links with various insurgence groups, before I put an end to his misery.” Vayne could have been performing a script learned by heart, each step calculated, each word weighted. He was too calm for Drace’s tastes. « The insurgents the Ninth discovered in Rabanastre would have thus been funded from the very centre of our Empire. Worse. That rat admitted that the Senate would this evening ask for a vote of no confidence against my promotion as Consul, thus leaving Rabanastre without a leader strong enough to counter the insurgence.» _

_ He stopped speaking, waiting for his words to take effect.  _

_ Well, that the Senate was involved in schemes against the Imperial Family, nothing new under the sun. It was the primary cause of insomnia for Drace, fearing that one of these old Senators would realise Larsa was not the gullible kid he looked like and tried to strip him of power, or worse make him disappear.  _

_ Still, there, something was wrong.  Vayne had summoned them, and apart from the corpse of the servant, there was no clue. Drace did not like that. Vayne had been too calm. Clearing his throat, Vayne went on speaking. _

_ “-- This vote must have come from Chairman Gregoroth himself probably. This,” he pointed to the corpse, “is his personal servant. Their treachery knows no end.” _

_ “A treacherous lot indeed. Much of the Senate must be culpable,” added Bergan, gleeful. _

_ “ We now need to conduct a thorough interrogation of all the Senators. Strip them of their authority in the meantime. I shall of course remain Consul in Rabanastre and at the same time oversee the purge—” _

_ This was too much. Drace snapped, tired of the farce unfolding before her eyes.  _

_ “Spare me your lies! You cannot make me believe that it was not a scheme of yours!” _

_ Vayne looked at her sharply, his mask slipping for a second. He regained control of himself at once. _

_ “Drace! You speak too freely!” Zargabaath told her. He knew of her temper and her habit of not watching her tongue, but she did not listen to him. It was infuriating, to be, again, the only one fighting.  _

_ “Zargabaath, do not tell me you join in this mummer’s farce?” It was a hopeless attempt at shattering an immovable object. He cast his eyes down, and deep inside her she knew he agreed, she knew he wanted to say something, but some things were better left unsaid. He looked at her finally, a second, a silent apology, then turned his head, answering: “With Rozarria poised to invade at any moment and the insurgence stirring, we cannot risk to weaken the border. We need a strong leader.” _

_ Drace huffed, furious. These men! For her, it was clear Vayne was guilty. It was too convenient, at the right moment… he had power in Dalmasca and a reason to order purges both there and in Archades. Too convenient indeed. Too much evidence for his father to refuse him. _

_ Vayne took a few steps away from the servant’s corpse. _

_ “Who knew who was next on their list?” He looked Drace in the eyes, the shadow of a cruel smirk on his lips. “Most likely my dear brother Larsa…”  _

_ Drace saw red. Larsa. HER Larsa. The next on Vayne’s list. No, never, he would not hurt Larsa. Never ever ever. “Surely you would not go so far!” she spat, her anger and hatred guiding her tongue. Vayne’s smirk grew an inch more visible. Drace’s blood was boiling, she was too angry to be aware of her surrounding anymore. She was too angry to realise he was playing with her. Before she knew it, her sword was in her hand. She stepped forward. She had to protect Larsa at all costs. “Vayne Solidor, as Judge Magister and upholder of the law, I hereby place you under arrest for conspiracy!”  _

_ She had fallen straight into the trap. _

_ Vayne did not react. He did not care about her sword pointed at him, his smirk gleeful. Drace gasped as she felt someting cold at her shoulder. A farce indeed, a set up. _

_ “You misunderstand. Vayne has the full support of the Ministry of Law for his actions. We all stand behind him. Do you see it now Drace? When you bared your sword at His Excellency, you bared your sword at the law.” _

_ Oh Faram she hated him. She had hated him her whole life.  _

_ “You wear the mummer’s motley well, Bergan.” _

_ She turned to face Bergan. He was grinning like a hungry predator. It was okay, if she had to fight him too she would. She would not mind. Anything for Lord Larsa. Their swords met, the metal clinking. Unexpectedly, Bergan lowered his sword and took her wrist, deflecting her sword. In a movement surprisingly quick for someone clad in such an armor, Bergan gripped Drace’s head, his gauntlet digging into her scalp. Without effort, he lifted her two hundred and sixty-odd pounds of flesh and metal, and threw her across the room as if she weighted nothing. She did not have the time to brace herself for the pain as her back collided with the floor. Her armor did little to soften the fall.  _

_ For a few seconds, her vision blacked out and her whole world was painful. Somewhere beyond, she heard Bergan laugh.  _

_ Why had she lost control? Drace hated herself. She was sanguine, that much she knew, but why did she have to lose all control? She had seen it, behind her eyelids, she had seen the past rewritten, Vayne’s lies, brother against brother. She had not been able to let such a threat go unpunished. And now she was powerless. _

_ Vayne’s voice. Drace opened her eyes again. “I will go to Rabanastre as scheduled. Bergan, Zargabaath, you will conduct the interrogations on the Senators.” _

_ “Sire,” answered Zargabaath, too eager to get himself out of this situation. _

_ Vayne went on: “Ghis will take care of the espionnage and interrogation on the insurgence and of my protection in Rabanastre.” _

_ “Your excellency.” Gabranth, who had been dutifully silent the whole time, finally spoke. “These are duties of the Ninth Bureau.” _

_ Even if her thinking was hindered by the shock, Drace could not fathom why Gabranth would decide to speak now. And to say that? Sometimes he was a mystery to her. _

_ Vayne turned around sharply, poisonous. _

_ “Oh? Perhaps you misunderstood your duties then. I see no other explanation for why all of this affair slipped past you and your men unnoticed.” _

_ What? Could it be a trap laid out for him too? Drace could definitely not believe Vayne.  _

_ “Your excellency—” _

_ “A hound, they call you... Am I not a master enough for you, so that you would busy yourself to other tasks?” Vayne smiled, victorious as Gabranth bowed his head. “ou may fulfill your duties as Judge Magister before us all and show you are worthy of your Bureau.” He pointed to Drace. “She has been tried and found guilty of treason. It falls under your authority to dispose of traitors.” So it was the end. Drace felt that Gabranth would not dare disobey Vayne. It had been two years, but he was still very much caught in Vayne’s web. And indeed he picked up Drace’s sword from the ground, and kneeled above her. She knew she made a miserable sight, just able to lift her head, her eyes clouded by pain. What a pitiful way to die. And Larsa... _

_ Gabranth refused to look her in the eyes, the tip of her sword hovering above the articulation of her chest armor. Gathering her strength, her voice betraying nothing of the turmoil of emotion she felt, Drace said: _

_ “Do as your master commands, Gabranth. I care not.”  _

_ Gabranth did not answer, his eyes frozen steel. The tip of the sword was now resting against her chest. His hand trembling, yet he would do it.  _

_ “Your excellency, I beg you reconsider!”  _

_ He would have thrusted in, killing Drace, if Zargabaath’s voice had not distracted him, his grip on the sword faltering. _

_ If she had had the strength, Drace would have laughed. What was the point to act now? What was he trying to achieve? Yet, Vayne seemed to appreciate the humiliating farce. _

_ “Beg ahead, Your Honor. I am listening.” _

_ It took less than a second for Zargabaath to improvise a defence. “As we already said. The Empire must be strong if we have to face a Rozarrian invasion. And an insurgence in Dalmasca, especially if it is rooted in the Senate here. The mere rumor of the execution and treason of a Magister might stir unrest in the rank and file. We need to maintain order at all costs. We can calmly announce her death, we just have to find a reason that would unite the troops, and yet…” he thought for a second, trying to find anything to save her. “Yet send her to the Nalbina dungeon instead! Nobody has ever escaped or survived.” _

_ What the hell are you saying, Drace would have shouted if she had had the strength. It was a stupid idea. Worse, it was the worst idea she had heard him have in a few years. Why keep her alive as a prisoner? Yet Vayne seemed to appreciate the idea, as he chuckled and added, _

_ “Well, I don’t see why this would prevent us from getting rid of her. We just have to weave a beautiful lie for the people.” He got closer to Zargabaath. “Unless you have another reason of course.” _

_ For once, Zargabaath met his gaze. “Forgive me Excellency, but two years is too short a time span to see yet again another Magister dead.” _

_ Zecht. That was a low blow. Vayne’s face was unreadable for a few seconds.  _

_ “You are lucky Zargabaath, you and your silver tongue. You truly know no honor nor shame. And to save her you condemn her to worse a fate.” Vayne walked over to Drace, pushing Gabranth aside. The cruelty in his voice had the sound of honey. “The whole empire will learn of your death. Your noble sacrifice, how you stepped between an insurgent and myself, how you could not deflect the blow.” He kneeled down, so close she could feel his breath on her face, his hand hovering above her neck. “How I held your dying body in my arms, your last words being of praise for House Solidor and the Empire.” Vayne quickly got up and turned his back on her. His voice was cold again, no trace of emotion. “Of course, my dear brother will be notified of the events in due time. I hope you said goodbye. » _

_ Bergan sneered at the words, and Drace closed her eyes. What would he think of her now… a dead hero, a sacrifice on his brother’s already sacred shrine. She would have better been actually dead. Oh the shame. Why had she been so stupid?! _

_ Gabranth stepped back, letting Drace’s sword fall to the floor. _

_ “Zargabaath,” began Vayne. “You will be in charge of taking her armor away and making her into a commonplace prisoner. Make sure she can walk. Go gather the supplies, we will be waiting here. Gabranth will be the one bringing her to Nalbina.” Zargabaath curtly bowed his head and left the room. _

_ For a minute, the room was silent, unmoving, save for a few whispers shared between Bergan and Vayne.  _

_ Drace only opened her eyes when she heard the familiar noise of Zargabaath’s steps again. He kneeled beside her, holding some bandages and a few other supplies. Her whole body protested as he helped her up, her ribs sending waves of pain through her body.  _

_ It was supposed to be humiliating, but she had the impression of floating above her body, now that the reality of her plight had struck her.  _

_ After she was stripped of her armor and given the basic healing, Vayne summoned two faceless soldiers who escorted her to an Atomos that would take flight during the night to bring her to Nalbina the fortress. _

 

***

 

Basch had listened intently during her story-telling, a strange gleam in his eyes. Fran… Fran held no judgement in her eyes when Drace’s gaze met hers. 

Balthier shrugged. “A fake kingslayer and a wannabe prince-consort-slayer in the same room. If I did not know better, I would say it is no coincidence. But I personally have no reason not to trust the two of you.” He locked eyes with Drace, and she knew what it meant, the pleading undertone he would never say out loud,  _ please do not prove me wrong. Do not betray us.  _

_ “ _ I still don’t believe any of you! You lie!” shouted Vaan, unable to see the fragile truth on which he stood collapse.

“Believe what you want to. Whatever it takes to make you happy.” Balthier turned his back to Vaan then. “What’s done is done.”

Drace smiled, genuine. She would have time, she hoped, to speak in privacy with Balthier. It had been too long, since he had run away, and he had always stood out back then. She had liked him, a feeling not so different from the one she harbored for Lord Larsa. Yet time had passed, and he had grown from a teenager into a fine man. And from Vaan’s reactions, it did not seem that Balthier had disclosed his true identity to his young companion, so it was better to leave that past in the past for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that was probably the longest chapter I wrote on this fic yet. I hope you liked it, and you know I had to include this scene one way or another... As always, please feel free to leave kudos or to comment, it feeds my muse!  
> (Next chapter should be up on Thursday 27th)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter, also the last one for September!  
> Enjoy :)

The calm that had settled over the Barheim Passage during Basch’s and Drace’s storytelling was now stirring. Fran’s ears twitched, and Drace remembered her warnings. Even if she knew that the Barheim Passage had been abandoned mostly because of the spreading of the use of airships, could it be that the presence of a monster had also led to the decline of the Passage? 

As they set on walking again, Drace tried to remember if she had read anything about it… could it be guarded by an Esper? Old lore was Zargabaath’s field, not hers. Nothing came to her mind. 

 

As they fell yet another mimic, Drace thought with a smile that for such a bunch of different personalities and experience, their group worked quite well. Vaan’s careless energy, Balthier and Fran’s ranged attacks… she and Basch had fallen into a protective position instinctively. It felt strange, to fight side by side with that man - if she closed her eyes, he could have been Gabranth. Drace balled her fists. Why was her mind coming back to him? She angrily punched a suriander, the poor monster falling dead with a screech. She had no time to waste on this kind of thoughts. And so, Drace focused on fighting. Bare-fisted, she attacked zombie after skeleton, joining Vaan in the melee rank. They were effective, and she caught more than once the boy’s eyes on her, watching her reduce dead bones to a pulp from afar. Slowly, she realised that she was gaining his respect, little by little with each monster that died. On the field, just like she liked it. Just like it had been all her life. Her thought became a certitude when they reached yet another blue crystal. As she rested the palm of her hand against the stone, he mimicked her, and with a cocky grin that might have rivaled Balthier’s in twenty years or so. 

“So,” inquired Vaan. “What’s your name again?” 

That was smooth, thought Drace, hiding a mocking smile. Still, she would not refuse a proposition of peace, even coming from a Dalmascan cutpurse. 

“You may call me Drace. But I am supposed to be dead, so we should not use that name.”

Vaan seemed lost in thought for a second or two. Fran and Balthier joined them at the crystal, Basch standing aside.  

“How are we supposed to call you then? Your Honor or something?” Vaan said out of the blue. 

Drace chuckled, more surprised than anything. Children… Balthier crooked an eyebrow in judgement, and Fran moved away from the crystal to join Basch. 

No, it would not do. She smiled at Vaan nonetheless. “Please don’t, it was nothing but a title, and I am not sure I am to carry it anymore.”

“Yeah sure, since you’re not a Judge anymore.” Vaan looked happy to have reached this conclusion for a second, before he sobered up and said: “I still don’t like Imperials.” Drace smiled. Yes of course. That boy was not much, but she could see now why Balthier would let him tag along. They were not so different.

In the meantime, the crystal’s power was still coursing through her body, the bruises slowly fading from an angry purple to a bluish hue, the swelling reduced now to almost nothing. Basch walked towards them. “The way out is just ahead.” 

“Let me guess,” said Balthier. “There’s someone there?”

“Fran seems to think so,” answered Basch.

“Then there is something.” Balthier’s voice rose, the natural leader. “Let’s gear up!” Drace nodded, still without weapons. There was nothing much she could do to prepare, except tighten the bandage against her ribs some more. A comforting gesture, and from the corner of her eye she saw the others getting ready too, loading weapons, stocking their pockets with potions. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. She was still feeling well enough -thanks to the crystal- to do some magick. Whatever lurked ahead had better be ready. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter, as always feel free to leave a kudo or comment :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, featuring an old acquaintance...

Carefully, they pressed onwards. 

All of them could feel the monster’s presence now, sickening slime noises and the smell of rotting… things. At the end of the dark corridor, the group stopped dead in their tracks. 

It was a gigantic mimic, taking up most of the room’s space. Blocking the way out.

No wonder the Passage is infested, thought Drace. At the giant mimic’s feet were many eggs, perfectly disguised as ancient chests. A Mimic Queen. Mechanical mother of thousands of these disgusting fiends.

The group shared a silent look. They would have no choice but to fight if they wanted to leave. 

Drace knew that without weapons, she would be of little use against the Mimic Queen. She then settled on supporting the fighters, casting healing spells on those that most needed it and boosting their speed. She also cast protection spells on Basch and Vaan, their closeness to the monster making them more vulnerable to its hits.

Soon, they realised that the Queen itself was not that much of a problem, its gigantic size hindering its movements. The small mimics she kept spawning were problematic though, attacking by groups of two or three, their electric bite painful. More than once, Drace found herself caught between two of these pests, and, vulnerable without armour and weapons, she had to cast a shock spell to get rid of the mimics. This put aside, they were doing well. None of them were too severely injured, and they were quick to drink a potion if no healing spell came.

It was obvious that the Mimic Queen was injured now; its movements were slowing, its attacks less precise. Drace expertly dodged a thundershock and from the corner of her vision she saw her four companions unleash powerful attacks at the same time. The Mimic Queen jerked backwards, electricity coursing through its legs, sparkling. It would not hold on for long. It fell, crashing against one of the walls. The sheer strength of its body shook the whole room, and the monster sank on the floor, dead. 

The room did not stop shaking, rubble falling from the ceiling. The small mimics were running around in panic as larger blocks fell. 

Her survival instincts took over Drace as she ran, never looking back. The tunnel behind them was collapsing on itself, but the way out was cleared. 

They barely escaped alive, but all five of them were there. Kneeling in the sand, breathless, dirty and bloodied by the battle. A soft wind blew over them, and Drace breathed in. She was outside. She was free.

“To think Dalmascan air could taste so sweet.” She looked at Basch. They were free. It tasted sweet indeed, this freedom. The dungeon far behind them, and before their eyes the immense desert, the burning sand split in two by a glistening river, the Nebra. 

“Where are we?” Vaan asked out loud. 

Drace remembered Zargabaath’s note,  _ Down. Search for Barheim Passage to E. Sand,  _ but Balthier had already answered him before she could:

“The Estersand, by the look of it. Let’s back to Rabanastre before we shrivel up.” He then looked in Basch’s direction. “By your leave, Captain.”

“Yes.” Basch walked closer to them. Drace saw the iron resolve in his eyes. The knight in him. Gabranth’s brother. “The hour of my return is already overlate. The people may hate me, but that does not free me of my charge.”

Drace looked at Basch, and a small smile graced her lips. Fon Ronsenburgs had that in their blood. Undying loyalty. Now more than ever, Drace regretted what had happened two years ago. She wished Gabranth had talked to her of his brother without hatred and resentment. She could have helped, maybe… she would have helped them. She did not know if she still had a chance of mending their severed bonds, or if it even was her place to try. 

For hours, Basch walked ahead of them. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. Drace found walking in the sand more difficult than she had anticipated. The sun was burning her, leaving her skin red and parched. She would have quite the headache later. Vaan, on the other hand, was in his element. He was jumping from rock to rock, avoiding the cactites and cokatrices expertly. Little desert rat. Fran and Balthier walked close to each other, and the pirate had his hand over his holster, always ready. 

They were right to be ready, as they were attacked by a pack of hungry desert wolves. The wolves jumped at them from nearby rocks, but they were not dangerous, and a few arrows, shots and swings of the sword were enough to make even the bravest run away. 

At last, the walls of Rabanastre came in view on the horizon. It held the promise of a bath, of food. Drace felt her feet speed up on their own accord. 

Rabanastre, the Desert Bloom of Dalmasca. 

How many times she heard Ghis praise the city’s simplicity, its colours and smells! Drace’s visits to Dalmasca before the war had always been short. On duty, she did not have time for tourism. Drace feared that this time also, she would not enjoy the city much. 

The walls were closer now, standing high like a provocation to the desert. A beacon of Humes’ capacity to survive. She heard noises coming from the doors, conversations, chocobos, armoured steps.

They had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Feel free to leave kudos and comments, I always love them! Next chapter will be thursday 4th.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter, one day late, I am sorry! I hope you enjoy it :D

As hurried as she was to rest in Rabanastre, when they stopped in front of the Eastgate Drace felt dread creep into her stomach. She feared being recognised, as unlikely as it might be. They were escaped prisoners. She was dead. Still, she swallowed the fear and walked on. The citizens of Rabanastre did not care about them as they walked by, busy trading goods or engrossed in their conversations. The Imperial Guards were busy being bored at the gate, that or they were slowly cooking in their armours. 

Basch was the first to break the silence that had settled over the group. “I thank you.” 

Balthier brushed it off in his usual fashion. “I’d avoid crowds if I were you. In this town, you are still a traitor, you know.” He was right though, and Drace knew that she too, was a living ghost and would better avoids crowds and soldiers.

Basch looked at Balthier, an iron resolve in his eyes. “The résistance will surely find me soon.” He turned to Vaan, “Fates will we meet again. I would pay my respects to your brother.” 

Vaan did not answer, and Balthier turned to him and said, a patronising tone in his voice:

“You’re a fugitive now too. Stay low for a while.”

Then, Fran and himself began walking towards the gate.

“What about the stone? » Vaan answered, stopping them dead in their tracks. Balthier did not turn around to answer, « Do as you like, that stone is ill-favoured.” Drace was curious now. What stone? Was that stone the reason why they ended up in Nalbina? The Balthier she knew was no petty thief, so it had to be important. An old relic maybe… Fran’s voice cut into Drace’s thoughts:

“We feel regret. We sought that stone and found ourselves only worry.”

“You offering it?” Balthier asked, and for someone who knew him like Drace did, there was unmistakable hope in his voice. 

“It’s mine!” Vaan answered, as if he regretted his question.

“Then why do you ask?” Balthier sighed and walked on. “Our regards to your girl.”

“We stay in Rabanastre a while,” added Fran, looking at Drace deep in the eyes. Drace nodded. Understood. She would find them. As smooth as Balthier was, he was not difficult to spot, especially not with a Viera at his side. She needed to have a word with them anyway. Did they still have that stolen ship prototype?

As Fran and Balthier disappeared through the gate, Drace decided to follow their example. With a quick salute at Vaan, she walked towards the guarded doors, head held high and her step quick. The guards took no heed of her, and soon she was in the Southern Plaza. It was buzzing with activity, people chatting, children running around. Colours, colours everywhere, on the clothes, on the buildings. In the voices.

It was a pretty city, Ghis was right. Royal. Drace shook her head. She had no time for tourism. If her memory served her well, the streets with the most shops would be on the Eastern side of the city. 

And so Drace made her way to the East End, hoping to find a shop where she could buy protections and clothes. A weapon shop would be welcomed too, but she did not have much gil with her. 

She put her hands in her pockets, counting. Not much indeed, scraps she had found on her way out of the Barheim Passage and in the Estersand, shared with the whole party. It was probably enough to buy one mace and some piece of clothing that would be more practical than the Archadian under-armour she was wearing at the moment.

The first shop she stumbled upon was the weapon’s shop, Amal’s Weaponry. It was small, crowded, and all of a sudden Drace was overwhelmed with nostalgia. She missed Archades, she missed the Judge Magisters’ armoury. She missed her dual maces, custom made for her hands and her fighting style, a deadly combination of curves and blades. 

Drace closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathing in through her nose, breathing out slowly. She needed to calm down, count her blessings and fight on. 

Even dead, she had to protect Lord Larsa.  

Methodical, Drace then looked at the weapons the shop sold. Nothing wonderful, nothing up to her standards, but she settled on a balanced pole made of cypress wood far too expensive for its quality. The simple maces they were selling were just too crude, so it would have to do its work. The shopkeeper eyed her suspiciously, her disheveled and dirty appearance not matching with her Archadian accent and her bearing. But gil was gil, and Drace left the shop with the pole safely strapped to her back. She had used a little bit less than a third of her money, so she entered Panami’s Protectives knowing very well that she would not have enough to buy a full set of armour. The armour shop was much alike the weapon shop, small and lacking in prestige. Looking at the rows of cloth, leather and metal armor, Drace settled on buying first feet and leg protections, as she trusted her dodging and evading abilities to keep her chest safe. A helmet or hat would be nice too… or gauntlets. 

After long minutes of browsing through the numerous items, Drace found a pair of leather boots to her taste. The tip and heel was reinforced with metal, and they were her size. The price was not overly expensive, and she had enough to buy a second hand leather breastplate. The leather was weathered, stained in some places, but it was better than nothing.

As soon as she left the shop, Drace took off the steel boots she had stolen to the Imperial Guard. Her feet were blistered by the too-small armoured boots, and she decided to walk barefoot for the moment. She smiled at herself. She looked almost like a proper hobo now! Well, if someone wanted to give her money, she would not say no. 

Lost in her thoughts, Drace soon found herself wandering amidst the colourful shops of the Muthru Bazaar. The smell of spices and the sun were almost making her dizzy, and Drace bought a leather sack that she filled with dried fruits and bandages. She also bought Dalmascan linen pants dyed a deep red and a matching shirt - Dalmascans called it a shirt, but for Drace it was barely an elaborated bra covering also the shoulders. Not that she was modest, but that was  _ not  _ proper clothing.  

While eating some kind of desert fruit she bought, Drace made her way back to the East End. If she followed a tired sky pirate’s logic, the best place to ‘stay for a while’ would of course be the local inn, The Sandsea. 

And as she had guessed, she saw two long fuzzy Viera ears as soon as she pushed open the door to the Sandsea.

Fran, who was of drinks-carrying duty, did not acknowledge Drace’s presence but her ears nonetheless twitched in her direction. 

Drace headed for the counter and bought a tall glass of cold water with added citrus slices. A fresh drink was heavenly. Eyes half-closed, Drace was sipping her drink when a young barman slipped a folded note in her hand. “From the gentleman upstairs.” 

Drace thanked him, and opened the note. It read:  _ Do join us Your Honor. You stand out like a sore thumb in this crowd. Balthier.  _

Drace smiled, so smooth and always direct to the point, was he not? It took her a few seconds to spot Fran again and, drink in her hand, she climbed up the stairs to the upper part of the Sandsea to join them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter, feel free to leave kudos and comments ~ Next one will be on Monday!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being a few hours late, but here is the chapter! Enjoy!

Drace sat down beside Balthier and Fran, leaving her purchases at her feet. It felt nice to relax in the tavern, even if it was just for a few minutes. Balthier looked at Drace with expectation in his eyes, as if to tell her to talk. To spill what she had not deemed necessary to tell the street rat and the prisoner.

But Drace did not speak yet, sipping her drink. Finally, she took Zargabaath’s note and put it on the table. Time for business.

“I never thought he would do that,” said Balthier with a calm voice, pointing to the note.

“What, save me or betray Vayne?” Drace answered. In her memory, Balthier and Zargabaath had been on good terms. Fran shot a long look at Balthier. “Zargabaath always puts the Empire first, The institution before the individual, and you know it very well.” Drace could not keep the Magister’s authority out of her voice.

Balthier looked down. Drace went on, “I think he suffered more of Judge Zecht’s demise than he lets others know. He disapproves of Vayne, as most of us do.”

“Most of us?” asked Balthier, his tone carrying its usual cynicism. Drace did not know which part of her sentence he was referring to, so she did not answer. Balthier took the note, read it again. 

“ _ Allies in B. Ask for the King. _ Where could that be?”

“Bhujerba maybe,” answered Drace. “From the Ninth’s investigations, it seems Marquis Ondore is helping the insurgence. That would make him an ally against Vayne.”

“But the Marquis is no king,” added Balthier. “And I highly doubt he would take it kindly to offer protection to a Judge, dead as she might be.”

“It could be Bur Omisace,” said Fran, “the Gran Kiltias protects the homeless and refugees, and offers guidance to lost souls.” 

“Yet he is no king either, whatever his authority’s worth,” said Balthier, “and the monks are neutral in the Empire’s conflict.” 

Drace sighed. “This leaves the Port at Balfonheim as a last resort.” 

“That pirate scoundrel who runs the town is no king!” laughed Balthier. “And are they not under Archadian supervision?”

“They are supposed to be, but pirates have money, and Archades knows when to turn her gaze away from--”

“Balthier!” The door to the Sandsea had opened with a loud noise, cutting Drace. A tall blue  Bangaa barged in and Balthier finished his drink, not at all looking alarmed. 

“The downside of celebrity…” 

In a few quick steps, the Bangaa was at their table. Balthier, relaxed in his seat, looked at him with all the disdain of a true noble of Archades. Fran did not even glance at him.

« I have found you Balthier! » the Bangaa said, panting, his hands moving frantically. « It is all your fault! »

Balthier sighed, annoyed at the sudden disturbance. « Could you  _ please  _ explain yourself calmly? »

The Bangaa took a few seconds to catch his breath. « They took Penelo because of you! They kidnapped the poor child, they—»

« Excuse me? » answered Balthier. « I do not even know her. » 

Something clicked inside Drace’s mind, an old habit, and before she thought about it, she spoke: « If it is an alleged kidnapping sir, then you should seek help from the Imperial authorities. You are on Imperial territory and the men here in Rabanastre are very competent. They can redirect you to the right Bureau but I do not recommend you to seek justice on your own as it could lead you to act in contrary with the law-oh.»

Drace stopped, self-conscious, feeling all eyes on her. Her voice had naturally raised to its Judge Magister quality, her back straight, her accent… She looked from the shocked patrons to Balthier’s judgmental glare and Fran amused one. Still, she had been successful in making the old Bangaa shut up, and the look in his eyes was everything but friendly.

« Nice show, » whispered Balthier to Drace. Then, his gaze turned to the Bangaa. « She is right you know. Yet, would you mind explaining the situation to me again? »

« They kidnapped Penelo, right outside my shop when she was working, and all they left was a note for you, for the infamous sky pirate Balthier! » The Bangaa pointed an accusing finger at Balthier. 

« It must be a misunderstanding, » explained Balthier. « I do not know anyone named Penelo, and have never been involved in a kidnapping of any sort. »

The Bangaa huffed and took a piece of paper out of his pocket. The writing was ugly, messy, yet it spelled, unmistakable  _ « to the Skypirate Balthier ».  _ « See? It’s you! » insisted the Bangaa.

« As I said, » began Balthier,  «a misunderstanding—»

“Misunderstanding! » The Bangaa shouted, cutting Balthier. « What I am understanding, is they took Penelo because of you!”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, feel free to comment and leave kudos <3 Next chapter should be next monday ~


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, who dis? 
> 
> Enjoy <3

“What? What about Penelo?” Vaan’s voice startled Drace. She had not noticed him enter the Sandsea. A few steps behind him, she also recognised Basch, who looked definitely cleaner than before, and who had proper clothes on.

The Bangaa turned to Vaan. Did those two know each other? 

“Ah, Vaan!” Well, yes, it seemed they knew each other. “They’ve taken Penelo! And there was a note, a note for this Balthier!” He turned away from Vaan to address Balthier again. “Come to the Bhujerba Mines it said!”

Balthier remained silent, and Fran, thoughtful, said: “It’s Ba’Gamnan. He was in Nalbina.” 

Drace shot a sharp look at Fran. Ba’Gamnan? He was a hired gun of the Ninth Bureau, one of Gabranth’s hounds… Drace did not understand. Was Gabranth searching for Balthier under orders of Doctor Cid? He was not supposed to take direct orders from Draklor, but from the Emperor. Was Ba’Gamnan overstepping his boundaries then? He could very well be using the money and means provided by the Ninth to headhunt Balthier for his own glory. Gabranth would not like that... Drace’s musings were cut short by the Bangaa’s voice. “—happen to that sweet child - why, I’ve her parents’ memory to consider! You’re going to go to her aid, and that’s that! It’s what you sky pirates do, isn’t it?”

“I don’t respond well to orders.” Drace smiled to herself. She knew that. Balthier had had quite the rebellious reputation in the Akademy even before taking off as a pirate. “You do know that the Imperial fleet is massing at Bhujerba?”

Then again, Drace reacted instinctively: “The 8th Fleet, with at its head the Dreadnought Leviathan led by Judge Magister Ghis. Archades is making quite a move to position such a formidable war fleet over neutral territory. Ending up on their bad side and flying unauthorised around the fleet is not a good idea.”

Balthier did not interrupt Drace. His eyes were on Vaan who was looking angrily at all of them. 

“Fine, then I’ll go!” Vaan shouted. He addressed Balthier: “You at least have an airship, don’t you? Just get me there, and I’ll find Penelo myself.” That boy was brave, thought Drace. Whoever that Penelo was, she must have been somebody important to him. A sister maybe?

“I’ll join you. I have some business there as well.” Basch stepped from his position behind Vaan. He had remained silent during the whole exchange, assessing the situation, and jumped on the opportunity. Clever one. Balthier smirked. 

“An audience with the Marquis by chance?” Basch smirked back, and Vaan, looking annoyed, took a big reddish crystal out of his pocket. 

“Balthier, just take us… and this is yours!” Drace remembered him talking to Balthier about a stone earlier today. Could this be it? It looked like no magicite Drace had seen before. She should not have skipped Zargabaath’s lectures on Old History. 

“The Gods are toying with us,” commented Fran. It had to be that special stone then. Drace made a mental note to herself to ask Balthier discreetly about it later. She was curious, and if it had led them to the Nalbina dungeons it could even be a treasure!

Balthier sighed, theatrical, and got up from his seat, his audience’s eyes on him. “Make yourselves ready, we leave soon.” 

Fran stood up too, and put her hand on Drace’s shoulder, an invitation to follow them. Drace stood up and took her purchases, following the two pirates outside. 

Bhujerba started with a ‘B’, so that had to be a start in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it, next one on Monday the 15th ~  
> (And as always, kudos and comments are loved!)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter, enjoy!

Drace followed the two pirates, walking at a fast pace through Rabanastre’s busy streets, Vaan and Basch behind them.  They walked in the Aerodrome, and into a private dock. All pirate that he was, bounty on his head and Ninth Bureau at his tail, he was no expert at staying anonymous. A private docking bay for a ship stolen years ago… The Stralh was the main attraction. It was more beautiful than Drace remembered. Balthier and his moogle engineer had tinkered it quite well, his father’s son without a doubt. 

As Drace was admiring the ship, she blocked Vaan’s excited babbling. In his short Rabanastran life, he had probably never seen such an airship. To be fair, not many people had, and for a second, Drace pictured herself flying the prototype. Such a change from Archades Cruiser Class ships. 

Once the whole group was inside the Strahl, Fran took Drace apart. 

“You can use our washroom if you wish.” Drace nodded. “It is here,” Fran pointed to a small door at her side. “You will find everything you could need inside. It’s on us, don’t worry.” 

“Thank you, I do need a good cleanup.” 

Fran smiled, and Drace went in the washroom, a much bigger room than she had imagined. She did not remember that the original YPA-GB47 prototype had such a sophisticated thing aboard, but she would not complain. 

There was a medium-sized bathtub, several closets, a bathroom sink above which was a mirror, two chairs and a small table. Everything was practical and clean. Drace opened the closets to find a washcloth and a towel. The closets were full of soaps, towels, and a great number and variety of healing supplies. Fran and Balthier were ready for any situation. Drace felt proud, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Balthier would have made a fine Magister, perhaps the best of them. Yet now she saw how cruel it would be to take the sky away from him. The reasons that had led him to escape Archades were what they were, and in the past. Drace hoped that Balthier was now old enough to realise that he needed to make peace with that past in order to be truly free.

Deep in her thoughts, Drace took off her clothes in a few quick, automatic movements. She did not know what to make of them, so she left them on the floor for the time being. She then took her new clothes from her bag and put them on a chair. 

She settled on taking a quick, efficient shower. She did not want to take advantage of the pirates’ hospitality, after all, she needed their help for more than a bath. Drace took off her bandages and stepped into the bathtub, switching on the hot water. Quickly, she scrubbed away the days of prison grime, blood and sweat off her body. She washed her hair too, the feeling of the hot water running through her hair and onto her back, soothing. She could almost have fallen asleep. She was tired. Exhausted, and her injuries took most of her energy to heal. She switched the water off. She would sleep later, tonight. Whatever they would do in Bhujerba, it could not be so long. Drace did not know when their path would split. What would Fran and Balthier do? Would each go their way? She remembered that Basch was interested in contacting the Marquis. If there was even the slightest chance that Ondore was the ally from Zargabaath’s note, then maybe she had to follow the captain. She rubbed herself dry with the towel. Then again, she could help Vaan. On his own, the boy had little chance against Ba’Gamnan and his gang… She then dried her hair. Wait and see, that was the best idea. Go with the flow, follow the group, and seize the opportunity. Looking at the used bandages strewn on the floor, she decided that Balthier would not mind that much if she were to borrow some from his stock. 

Drace fished some fresh bandages from the closet and wrapped the fabrics around her bruised ribs. Once she was satisfied, she tried her new clothes on. The pants were feeling nice, the fabric light and soft, yet the top was… Dalmascan to not say anything else. Drace managed to buckle the breast plate above it, and it looked already much better. She then quickly combed and tied her hair, and put the boots on. She was ready. 

 

When she emerged into the main cockpit of the Strahl, fully clothed with her new attire, her hair pulled back in very short ponytail, all eyes were on her.

“You’re almost a Dalmascan now!” said Vaan, enthusiastic. 

“As long as she does not talk,” finished Balthier, his tone too serious for Drace’s liking.

“Kidnapping is a serious offence,” answered Drace as a defence. “And since when does a sky pirate act as a vigilante?”

Balthier huffed, and changed subjects: “You should cover that Archadian face of yours Drace. If Judge Ghis is indeed in Bhujerba, I am not sure you want to be recognised.”

“You are right,” answered Drace, thoughtful. Suddenly, it dawned on her. All colour left her face. Larsa. He was on a scheduled trip to Bhujerba with one Judge Magister Ghis. Her heart was at once pierced by a thousand tiny needles. Her Larsa would be so close. So close to her. She could take him away. Protect him. 

To him, she was dead. He could not recognise her, it was out of the question. It would be too difficult for the boy. It would raise too many questions… and as much as Drace hated Vayne, she would not severe the bond between the two brothers. 

The look of dismay on her face must have been obvious, because Balthier put a hand on her shoulder. “Is everything okay?” His voice sounded almost guilty.

“Lord Larsa.” Drace’s voice sounded strangled. “He is supposed to be in Bhujerba.” 

Balthier nodded. “You really have to cover up then. Let’s see what we have.” He shouted to Fran, “I leave you the commands!” before taking Drace by the arm into something that looked like the captain’s quarters of the Strahl. 

“I am sorry to be so much trouble,” mumbled Drace, genuinely ashamed. Balthier brushed it off as he opened a large wooden chest that was filled to the brink with colorful fabric and leather pieces. “Let us see if I have anything,” he said, and Drace realised it was in fact clothes of all kind and all cultures of Ivalice in the chest. 

It took about one minute for Balthier to find something to its taste. It looked like a leather helmet, of a black colour. From the looping and delicate ornaments, Drace recognised Viera craftsmanship. 

“Try this on,” said Balthier. He handed her the helmet, and Drace gave it a closer look. It had holes on top for the Viera’s long ears, and seemed to be made to cover the upper part of the face as well as protect the jaw. If it fitted her, only the tip of her nose and her mouth would be visible. Drace found and untied the few buckles at the back of the helmet, and put it over her head. It was almost the right size, only slightly too big, and if she tucked her hair in it was perfect. Viera craftsmanship was truly something, thought Drace. The helmet weighted almost nothing on her, and her vision was not impaired by the leather in front of her eyes. How were the Viera able to achieve such technique she did not know, but she was grateful. 

“It used to be Fran’s, a long time ago,” commented Balthier. “Does it fit?” 

Drace nodded. “Almost perfectly, and much better than the regular rank and file Archadian gear.” It was unlikely that Larsa would recognise her like this, if she did not speak. It broke her heart, but it remained the best thing to do. 

Balthier looked satisfied with the result. “Now, you look like nothing normal. But you should be anonymous enough for Bhujerba.” He clapped Drace on the shoulder, as they were walking back to the cockpit. “In the worst of cases they’ll think you some crazy pirate!”

Drace chuckled, half-hearted. Judges-turned-pirates. What an unlikely combination. She sat with the others and looked out of the Strahl’s window as Balthier went back in the pilot’s seat. The sky was blue and the Strahl was soaring high above the clouds. Clear in the sky, far away but becoming visible, the floating continent of Dorstonis. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, as always, feel free to leave kudos and comments!  
> On a side note, because of how busy I am and will continue to be this October/November/December, I will no longer be updating twice a week, but only on Mondays...sorry. Real life can take us away sometimes.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Enjoy!

For the rest of the trip, Drace tried her best to sleep but her mind was plagued by thoughts of her young lord. Her heart was torn between the need to see him again, to be sure he was in a good shape and the rational thought that it was better to avoid him. Then there was the insurgence also. Would the Marquis proved himself too belligerent, Drace would not yet accept to help him, potential ally or not .  Because of the recent events, Drace had had no time to think properly about the shifting politics of the Empire. This insurgence… it was an open door to a Rozzarian invasion, and never she would wish such a thing for her… for the Empire.

“Buckle up!” said Balthier, breaking her out of her thoughts, as the Strahl flew in a tight curve towards the aerodrome of Bhujerba. 

Balthier perfectly parked the Stralh in a landing kiss. His moogle assistant came to him and they talked for a few minutes of docking fees and anonymity as the others checked their weapons and backpacks. Drace followed their example, securing her weapon to her back and adjusting her mask. 

Finally, the group left the Strahl and went in the Aerodrome of  Bhujerba, looking as natural as they could. Everywhere were Imperial soldiers. They seemed to be very busy, running everywhere and searching for something. Before she even thought that someone might have noticed Basch’s or her disappearance from the dungeon of Nalbina, she thought about Larsa. Something had happened to him. He had been kidnapped, he had run away… Drace felt a stone settle in the pit of her stomach, making her nauseous. She should have been by her Lord’s side. 

From the corner of her eye she noticed Balthier and Basch, the latter seeming particularly nervous. She followed them instinctively, praying to all the Gods of Ivalice that these guards were not looking for her Lord. 

Their little group left the aerodrome, arriving over the long bridge of the Travica Bay. The Bhujerban wind was refreshing on Drace’s skin, and there was no trace here of the commotion that happened inside the aerodrome. 

“The Lhusu Mines are just up ahead,” Drace did not listen to Balthier as he explained some specificities to Vaan, as she was observing the gigantic ‘winged’ Magicite presiding over Marquis Ondore’s estate, the stone’s colour soothing her. “… hear there’s not much left these days.”

“You’re on your way to the mines?” Drace gagged, turning around in an instant to face the voice who had just spoken. No no no no no no. Impossible!  _ He  _ was there, casually strolling from the border of the bridge to look Balthier in the eye. “Then please allow me to accompany you. I have an errand to attend to there.”

“What matter or errand?” Basch asked, wariness in his voice. 

“What errand? I might ask the same of you.” Drace was burning, dying inside. The feeling of nausea was back, and she did not think she would be able to speak would he address her. Her Lord… He was so smart, she taught him well, she could see it. But talking to random strangers in a foreign city, she would have to lecture him on the matter, later, very thoroughly. Or never. She swallowed back tears. She wanted to reach out to him, straighten his jacket and escort him into the mines herself —after having given Ghis the beating of his life. That scoundrel! He was supposed to watch after Lord Larsa, not let him roam free with sky pirates and the dangers of the world and— Balthier’s voice put an end to her distressed thoughts:

“Right, come on then.” 

_ What? _

“What?” Vaan voiced her surprise. Why would Balthier accept such a thing? Yet, seeing how he was looking at her Lord, Drace began to wonder… could it be that he recognised him? It had been six years since Balthier left Archades, and the young prince had changed, his facial feature not those of a child anymore.

“Excellent.” He had changed yes, but he remained the same polite and smart prince, and Balthier was a good observer.

“Do me a favour and stay where I can keep my eye on you. Should be less trouble that way.”

“For us both,” agreed Larsa. Drace swore to herself that no harm would come to him as long as he was with them. No trouble. Larsa, in the meantime, was studying each of his new companions, and when his eyes swept over Drace, she stopped breathing. Was it possible he could recognise her through the helmet and clothes? She had done her best but her disguise was nowhere near perfect. At last, Larsa looked away. If he had recognised her, he had said nothing. Yes, she had taught him well. Discretion and tact above all else. If this status quo was all she could have, Drace was okay with it. She had Larsa in her line of sight, nothing else mattered. When she had sworn to protect him, she had willingly accepted to let her life, identity and honor at his feet. She would remain faceless, nameless, as long as she could protect him. 

“So, what’s your name?” Vaan asked, straightforward as always. 

“I, huh, I’m Lamont.” Drace flinched at the stutter in Larsa’s voice. He still needed training. Yet, when she saw Vaan’s smile, and his answer, “Don’t worry. I don’t know what’s in that mine Lamont, but you’re in good hands,” she knew that at least one of her companions had no clue about his identity. Vaan was nicer than she had first judged him to be. A bit brash, and naive, but unafraid of danger when his friends were concerned. And seemingly always ready to make new friends. “Right, Basch?” 

Drace, surprised, gasped. Balthier and Basch sighed in unison. Larsa, on the other hand, said nothing. A corner of his mouth twitched up, his head lightly cocked as he was analysing Vaan’s words. But he never lost his composure. In the midst of her dismay, Drace felt so proud. 

 

Their little group then walked up the streets of Bhujerba, Vaan looking everywhere at everything. Drace could not care less about the beauty of the narrow paved streets of the Skycity, nor about the typical little shops. Her eyes never left Larsa’s back. She was watching each of his steps, each bypasser that walked too close to him. It calmed her down a little bit, the routine of watching her Lord. She was so focused that she had the impression that the ascension of the streets had taken only a few minutes, and yet they were already there, in front of the Lhusu Mines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! As always, feel free to leave a kudo or comment ~ until next monday!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe it's the twentieth chapter already? Oh myyyy this fic is going to be long!  
> Enjoy!

The group stopped in front of the entrance of the Mines, Vaan watching the architecture in awe. Balthier took a step forward, “The Lhusu Mines: one of the richest veins in Ivalice.” Basch turned his head around, his eyes worried. “Under Imperial guard no doubt.” 

“Actually no.” Larsa stepped in between the two of them. He looked Basch straight in the eyes. “With but few exceptions, the Imperial Army is not permitted within Bhujerba. Well, shall we proceed?”

Basch and Balthier exchanged a half-amused, half-tired look. Larsa, without waiting for any of them, walked towards the entrance of the Mines. Drace followed at once, not letting too much distance between her and her Lord. From what she had heard from Ghis some times ago, the miners were having troubles with the monsters changing behaviour and becoming aggressive. Drace was no scientist, but she imagined that the constant extracting of magicites could result in an unrest of the mist. It was no secret that all animals reacted to mist and that it could cause behaviour changes at least. Well, she was armed and trained, and thanks to the crystals and potions her injuries barely hurt her anymore. The monsters could come. 

 

The first meters of the Mines were empty. Devoid of miners, monsters, and even sound. Only the clicking of their shoes against the paving stones. Drace found the Mines had an eerie atmosphere to them. Their little group was walking slowly, remaining close to each other.

Noise, out of a sudden. Steps, and armours. Quickly, the six of them ran under the safe cover of darkness, behind pillars, below the main path of the mine. Better not to get seen. Instinctively, Drace draped an arm around Larsa’s shoulders. He did not react, and Drace was happy again for a second. 

The noise was closer now, and from her hiding spot Drace saw six silhouettes walking towards the exit. Some she knew all too well. 

“You will forgive me for asking, but you are diverting the purest of the magicites?”

Ghis. Instead of watching over Larsa like he should have, the scoundrel was taking a walk in the Mines with the Marquis, talking openly about state secrets. 

“I can assure it reaches Lord Vayne most discreetly.” Drace felt an overwhelming desire telling her to step out of her hiding spot and give the both of them a good lecture. If only she had her maces with her… 

Yet, Ghis and the Marquis were not alone, flanked by two imperial guards and two of the Marquis’s rev counselors, so a direct action would be stupid. 

In the meantime, Drace listened to Ghis and Ondore’s conversation.

“You wear your saddle well,” said Ghis, his voice filled with disdain and a hint of amusement. The Marquis smiled, reaching up to the challenge. 

“Be that as it may, I have no intention of being briddled, Your Honor.”

Ghis snickered, “Then you prefer the whip?” Drace sighed. “Stubbornness will see not only you broken, Excellency, but Bhujerba as well.” How long had they known each other? Twenty, thirty years? More maybe, before Drace was even in the army. These two were insufferable, even more so since they had reached the peak of their power. They left the mine with their suite, silent for once. The small adventurer’s group left the protection of the shadow. In the back, Drace heard Larsa give her companions a lecture on Marquis Ondore. Good boy… Balthier answered with an acidic comment which Larsa answered with equal wit. Leave it to two Archadians to bicker… They were cut by Vaan, urging them to find Penelo. 

“And Penelo is your--” began Larsa, only to be cut short by Vaan. 

“She’s a friend. She was kidnapped and taken here.” Without leaving the others a chance to answer, Vaan took off running deeper into the Mines. If they did not want the boy running into some serious trouble, they had no choice but follow. 

 

Soon, the group understood why there was no miner in sight. To say the Lhusu Mines were unkempt and that the monsters were aggressive was an understatement. At the first corner, a steeling lurched at them. Vaan swung his sword at it, but the steeling was quicker and dodged, flying in circles around his head, quick silent wings and unnerving screeching. “Down!” Balthier said, cocking his Altair and aiming. Vaan lowered his head just in time to dodge the shot. The steeling hit the ground with a dying screech. 

“Thanks, do you thi--” started Vaan, his voice dying out when he noticed that Balthier and Fran were not listening to him, but focused on the darkness beyond. From there came a clicking, rattling sound.

“Dead defenders…” whispered Basch. Fran nodded. 

From the darkness, they saw several skeletons emerge from the darkness. Drace unseathed her weapon, and stepped in front of Larsa. He might be incognito and her too, but there was no way any of these old, mist-infused bones would touch her boy. 

The skeletons charged them then, uncoordinated but deadly. 

Drace’s weapon was far from perfect, and some of the wider movements sent a light wave of pain in her left arm and shoulder. Yet she was driven by the duty to protect Larsa, and between her and Basch, the skeletons met an equally deadly front line. Larsa and Vaan were holding the middle ground, and Fran and Balthier stayed in the back row, shooting arrows and bullets at the skeletons who would not yield to the swords and polearm.

The skeletons were in the end not very sturdy, and their number was the real danger. Soon enough, each member of the group was bearing a few scratches, except Drace who had a dozen. Except Larsa who had none. All was well and they were progressing in the Mines the best they could. It was only when they had crossed a skeleton-guarded bridge, and that the way split into two almost identical shafts, that they realised they had no map. 

“We must be in the first Transitway,” chipped in Larsa, finding his way between Basch and Drace. “I do not know where your friend Penelo is, but from what I read about the Lhusu Mines, the Transitway number two should be on our left and lead to the ninth site and the closed eleventh site.”

“So?” Vaan asked, looking impatient.

Larsa turned around, sharp. “It means we should go right, cross what I believe to be the Shunia Twinspan to the second and third site.” 

“You really are well informed,” Basch added. “Let us follow your lead.”

Larsa looked satisfied, and they went on further inside the Mines. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, and happy Halloween -1 day! Stay spooky, and I'll see you next Monday, for more actions in the Lhusu Mines!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter ~ It's getting interesting!

The Shunia Twinspan was a bridge similar to the one they had already crossed, but it had two separate parts, hence its name. Drace hoped that Penelo and whatever secret Larsa wanted to unearth were indeed ahead. She did not like these bridges. She was not afraid of heights, and would have found the view of the sky below quite beautiful had the circumstances been different. What was troubling Drace, more than the creeping fear of anything happening to Larsa, was the calm. She could see the silhouettes of a few skeletons on the other side of the bridge, but it was too calm in comparison with the tunnels. Drace looked at Fran, whose ears were twitching back and forth. Of course, the concerns of a Viera and a masked stranger were not worth much for Larsa and Vaan, who carelessly walked on the bridge. Balthier and Basch followed soon after, Fran and Drace last. 

Balthier turned his head towards them, and said to Fran, “Something is wrong here, don’t you think?” Drace listened, always keeping an eye on Larsa. 

Fran slowly nodded. “The mist is thick. It can be the magicite concentration, or spell residue, I don’t--”

Fran’s words were cut by an explosion. Vaan was flung backwards, crying out in pain. Larsa stood frozen on the spot, a sparkle of mist under his foot. 

“Traps! Watch out!” shouted Drace as she jumped in front of Larsa, pushing him away and  taking the blunt force of the trap. She too was sent on the floor, choking, her lungs filled with painful gas. She got back up on her knees as quickly as she could, still coughing. Larsa was standing dumbfounded a few feet away. 

“Traps, I see what unsettled the mist,” said Fran thoughtfully. Further behind, Basch and Balthier were helping Vaan up. From the little that Drace could see, he was not in a very bad shape. It was his second trap in a few days, if she recalled well. The boy was lucky not to be more injured, but he had better watch out. Drace, on the other hand, felt that she had taken some damage from the trap, yet she forced herself to stand back up on shaky legs, her throat on fire. She felt a hand on her elbow, a contact she knew well. She slowly turned around. Larsa was looking at her with a sweet, slightly worried smile. 

“You helped me,” said Larsa. Drace nodded, not trusting her voice. He was looking into her eyeless mask, deep into her soul. “Thank you,” added Larsa. Drace managed a weak cough. The gas from the trap was still hurting her throat and lungs. 

“Wait a second,” said Larsa as he fished something from his bag. He then handed a blue flask. Hi-Potion. He was always prepared. Grateful beyond words, Drace took the potion. Her fingers lightly brushed against his, and the urge to tighten her fingers around his hand was hard to fight. So many memories, holding his hands in Archades when he barely could walk… later he would take her hands in his to lead a mock-waltz, or to lean in closer and whisper some secret into her ear, some worry. 

Opening the flask of hi-potion, Drace renewed her vows. As long as she drew breath, no harm would come to him. She drank. The liquid soothed her throat, its warmth spreading inside her. 

“Now, we tread carefully,” said Basch. “I can detect the traps using the Libra technique.” 

They all walked in a line behind Basch then, following his instructions. He could have thought about that sooner, thought Drace, but in the meantime she was glad that Dalmasca trained their knights like that. She herself had learned Libra long ago, back at the Akademy, but had not used the technique in years, and had not thought about it. Crossing the bridge then proven to be no challenge at all, and the few skeletons at the end stood no chance. The party took a few seconds to rest, and Drace observed Larsa. 

She was using every second she had to engrave his smile, his eyes in her mind. When would she see him again? Larsa, on the other hand, was oblivious to her. He looked excited but controlled, too serious for his age. Drace ran a hand through her hair. It would be so easy to take off her helmet. Fall down the mask, the lies. 

It would be so easy. They set to walk again, skeletons falling under their hits. The tunnel was darker now, but also lighted by a pale blue glow. Embedded in the walls, in the ground, veins of raw magicite. It was a beautiful sight, the wonders of Ivalice. The mine was silent as they walked, awed. Larsa’s eyes were sparkling, looking everywhere. 

“This is what I came here to see,” said Larsa softly as he crouched down near a glowing magicite vein. He took a glowing blue crystal out of his pocket. 

“What’s that?” wondered Vaan, who had gotten closer to Larsa.

“It’s nethicite. Manufacted nethicite,” explained Larsa. Drace had never heard about this, but it smelled Draklor. She did not like to see Larsa fiddle with such things.Too dangerous; it reminded her too much of Zecht. 

“Nethicite?” Vaan voiced the whole party’s interrogations. 

“Unlike regular magicite, nethicite absorbs magickal energy. This is the fruit of research into the manufacture of nethicite. All at the hands of the Draklor laboratory.” 

Balthier flinched at the mention of Draklor. No indeed, Drace did not like that. Who knew what secrets Larsa could unearth? And what about Vayne or Doctor Cid’s reactions? 

Larsa stood back up and wandered a bit away from them, in awe. “So this is where they’re getting the magicite.”

“Errand all attended to then?” Balthier took a few slow steps towards him. 

“Thank you.” Larsa did not even look at him. “I’ll repay you shortly.”

“No, you’ll repay us now. We have too much on our hands to go on holding yours.” Balthier was dangerously close to Larsa for Drace’s tastes. “So, where did you hear this fairy tale about ‘nethicite’? And where did you get that sample you carry?” Balthier’s attitude was rather hostile now, and Larsa took a few steps back, intimidated by the pirate’s change of mood. “What do you know about the Draklor laboratories?” It was at that exact moment that it dawned on her. Balthier had not recognised Larsa. An irrational fear took hold of Drace, and in the blink of an eye she blocked Balthier’s path with her weapon. “I’d stop there if I were you,” she growled in a low voice. Larsa gasped in surprise. Balthier looked genuinely shocked. He glanced at Larsa, then at her, then at Larsa. “Oh,” he whispered, “I see now.” 

He took a step back, and Drace lowered her weapon. They would talk later. 

“You kept us waiting, Balthier!” They all turned around at the voice. Four heavily armed Bangaas were blocking the way out. Drace recognised at once Ba’Gamnan and his gang. “You slipped away in Nalbina, we missed you!” He assembled the crude spinning circular saw that was his weapon of choice. “First the Judge and now this boy! The whole affair has a smell of money about it. I may have to wet my beak a little.”

“Keep your snout in the trough where it belongs,” replied Batlhier, his mask of sass and cool detachment back on. “This thinking ill befits you, Ba’Gamnan.” 

In the back of her mind, Drace wondered what was the cause of the hatred and rivalry between these two.

Ba’Gamnan’s roaring laughter echoed around them. “Balthier! Too long have I gone unpaid! I’ll carve my bounty out of that boy!” 

What had he just said? Drace’s heart missed a bit, the corners of her vision red. He had… Lord Larsa!

Vaan then asked him about Penelo, and Drace only listened to Ba’Gamnan’s answer with one ear. The girl was safe? Good. There were more important matters to attend. 

Yet, Vaan had distracted Ba’Gamnan with his question, and Larsa seized the momentum, throwing his nethicite at the bounty hunter’s head. Larsa’s aim was perfect, and he took off running like a hare while Ba’Gamnan staggered backwards. The others followed without a second thought, taking advantage of the head start. On his way, Balthier pushed Ba’Gamnan to make him fall, and even if she followed him, running, Drace’s vision had not yet cleared. This dirty bounty hunter had dared to threaten her Lord. How Gabranth could keep employing scum like that was beyond her. She was definitely not in the mood to run away.

“… fight who we must, leave the rest!” urged Balthier, still running. 

No, no. “No.” Drace stopped dead in her tracks. No one threatened Lord Larsa unpunished. 

“Drace don’t be a fool,” shouted Balthier. “We are not strong enough!”

“Go ahead,” she readied her weapon. The steps of the Bangaas were closer, just around the corner. “I’ll join you outside.”

Whether it was common sense or his survival instincts that influenced Balthier’s decision, Drace did not know, and she cared even less. He ran away as Ba’Gamnan emerged from the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter :)  
> Next one will obviously be next monday... and y'know what? November means NaNoWriMo, so I have actually been working a lot on this fic! I have almost finished up to chapter 30 today, and from about chapter 27th onwards, it will be slightly different from what you have now. I mean. Less game-followy. More consequences! Good stuff!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Action! A new chapter!  
> Enjoy <3

When they saw Drace, alone, blocking their path, the four Bangaas stopped running. Ba’Gamnan eyed Drace suspiciously, behind the protection of his circular saw.

“Make way she-Hume,” hissed one of the Bangaas, a dark-blue-skinned male. “We have no business with you.”

Drace snarled. “On the contrary, I have business with you.” She took a step towards them, pushing on her luck. “You threatened the wrong person today.”

Ba’Gamnan spat on the floor. “That pirate? He sends minions to die in his stead now?”

Drace’s anger knew no bounds. “Not him no… but you’ll die before knowing!” That Gabranth found these dark hands useful… but that they dared to attack Lord Larsa! She should have known… he had changed.

Her words, in the meantime, had an impact on Ba’Gamnan. He was hesitating to attack, his saw lowered.

A blue, female Bangaa shouted from behind him: “Let’s have her instead, brother!” 

“Yes!” Another yelled. “It’s been too long since we had fun! We’ll catch Balthier later!”

Ba’Gamnan growled in anger, yet he could not refuse his siblings. Drace was beyond angry too. Why did everybody want to ‘have fun’ with her lately? What was so special about her? They had never seen a woman or what? Oh well, she thought as they began to circle around her, they probably never met a lone Hume not afraid to fight them before. Nothing tasted better than novelty, and they would get a good taste of their own blood once she was finished with them.

Ba’Gamnan’s gang was, Drace noticed when the fight began, a well-tuned quartet. They were used to fight side by side, an oiled machine of death.

Drace dodged Ba’Gamnan’s circular saw, only to find the tip of the spear of the female poking her back. She dodged to the side. The Bangaas were in no rush, in comparison to the Seeqs Drace had fought a few days ago. Then, the Seeqs had wanted to have her at once, beat her up first for the fun of it before seizing their prize. Her current enemies on the other hand… they wanted fun. She was outnumbered, and their cruelty was refined enough to take advantage of that. They would play with her, making the fight last as long as possible, weakening her little by little, a cut here, and scratch there until she would become pliant and submissive, exsanguinated, defeated. Then at last they would kill her, or worse. To think Gabranth—

Drace should not have gotten lost in her thoughts, and she saw too late the curve of a dagger against her flank. She did not take too much damage thanks to her leather protection, the metal not even biting into her skin. She would have to be more careful from now on. Re-evaluating her strategy, Drace took a defensive stance. She deflected a blow from Ba’Gamnan with her pole, swiftly turning around to hit the third henchman in the back. She would have to be especially careful with this one as he wielded a Bowgun, never let him out of her sight.

The fight went on, slow. The bounty hunters were deliberately taking their time to rest and taking turns harassing Drace with light jabs and small cuts. She was getting tired, slower. As a result, she ended with a superficial but painful cut on the back of her right thigh. She staggered. An inch lower and they might have touched the tendon. A shot rang on her right, barely missing her. Drace took a tentative step backwards, only to find a dagger against her throat. She stopped moving, a statue, barely breathing. A flick of his wrist and she would die. A quick move and she would be free of his grasp.

The female laughed, “Nice catch Bwagi!” The one holding her snickered, and whispered into her ear, his voice like rotten honey, “So, what should I do with you?” His free hand found its way on her face, a gross caress on her cheek, going lower, lower down her shoulder and right arm, until it tightened around her wrist, twisting it. With a cry of pain, Drace released her weapon. The Bangaas’ cruel laugh resonated in her ears. Her wrist was not broken, but her pole was now on the ground.

The third sibling sheathed his gun and came closer to her. His clawed fingers gripped her helmet and unbuckled it.  It fell on the floor and Drace was face to face with the small, cruel eyes of the Bangaa. He hummed disdainfully, his reptilian tongue peeking out of his snout. “Look at that.” His hand tightened around Drace’s jaw. “That face ain’t worth shit on the market!” Laughter echoed through the tunnels. The Bangaa spat on Drace’s face. “Nah, not worth a gil!” That was enough. Taking advantage of the Bangaa’s self-confidence, Drace kicked him in the groin, using all the strength she could. She had taken all of her enemies by surprise, and the one facing her staggered backwards, screaming in pain. “Gijuk!” shouted the female Bangaa, the first to react. She locked eyes with Drace. “You’ll pay for that! Bwagi, hold her good!”

She picked the wooden pole up, and delivered a crushing blow to Drace’s stomach. She doubled over in pain, the dagger cutting the skin of her neck, drawing blood. A second blow came, a third that hit her chest, a fourth until the pole broke down.

“Don’t kill her yet Rinok, we just started!” shouted Ba’Gamnan, who was watching from behind his siblings, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. Rinok reluctantly lowered the weapon, growling. “Started what? She can’t even stand a fight!”

Drace was fighting back tears. More than the pain or the humiliation, she was ashamed at her defeat. _She can’t even stand a fight._ Had the years gotten the better of her? First Bergan, then the Seeqs and lastly them… All these years in Archades, overseeing Larsa’s education, safe in the capital… All these years of wars fought from the cockpit of an airship, or at the head of a phalanx of soldiers. She was not that old, she was not that weak… She was still worthy of protecting Lord Larsa… was she? She could stand a fight? Drace closed her eyes, tears slipping between her lashes.

“Look,” Ba’Gamnan roared, “you’ve made her cry!” He pushed his sister away as he got closer to Drace, so close that she could feel his breath down her face. “You’ll cry for me pretty Hume… If we can’t get a profit out of you… I will cut you until you beg for death.”

Drace kicked her legs backwards in vain, trying to free herself from Bwagi’s grip, the dagger biting deeper into her neck. Ba’Gamnan laughed again, his saw a few inches from Drace’s body.

Drace wished she could concentrate enough to channel the mist inside her into a quickening. Yet she was not injured enough, or too distressed, an so she could not focus.

“She doesn’t need her legs! Let’s begin there!” The three others cheered. Ba’Gamnan lowered the saw. Drace had to do something, find a solution, anything, and now. “Or maybe your tongue? Unless you put it to good use and tell me where Balthier and that boy are.”

That boy. ‘I’ll carve my bounty out of that boy!’ She was still worthy of protecting Lord Larsa, wasn’t she? Time was frozen for an instant. Drace flung her head backwards without thinking, knocking Bwagi hard in the jaw. He lost his balance and released her. The next second, Drace had both hands on the handle of Ba’Gamnan’s saw.

“Oh yes I will cut you!” she yelled as she pushed the saw straight into Ba’Gamnan’s face, overpowering him. Blood gushed on her face, and the Bangaa screamed in pain, holding his bloody, disfigured snout. Drace yanked the weapon from his grasp and turned around to face his three siblings. She took a step forward, and they ran away into the deeper tunnels, screaming in fear, realising that the balance had shifted. Their leader down, they were nothing anymore.

Drace was alone with Ba’Gamnan now. He had fallen on the ground, moaning in pain. She kicked him in the head. “Never come around the boy again. And tell your master in Archades of me! Tell him I am alive, and I protect our Young Lord!”

Ba’Gamnan answered nothing, staggering, losing too much blood.

Drace watched him flee. She was feeling both empty and sated, her rage dulled.

She was still worthy of protecting Lord Larsa.

Drace decided to keep the saw. It was a better weapon than the now-broken pole, and a nice trophy. She took a potion from her bag and drank it before picking up her helmet from the ground. She would dress her wounds later. It was time to go back outside now, and find the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, and look out for the new one next monday! ~


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for being one day late, but I was on a trip so it did not make it easy publishing ^^ Anyway, enjoy!

Drace had no problem finding her way back out of the Mines. Her memory was good, and they had cleaned it up quite well on their way in. A few pesky steelings… but nothing more. At last, she saw the afternoon’s light and the stairs that lead out of the entrance shaft of the Mines. She climbed them, wondering if the group had waited for her… and more importantly where they were.

“Balthier! Fran! Basch! She’s here!” Drace smiled at the sound of Vaan’s voice. They were waiting for her, and more than grateful, it made her happy.

Vaan ran to her, the three others following shortly behind.

“Oh woah!” Vaan pointed at the saw, excited, “Is that—”, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw the blood. Drace’s face, neck and chest were almost entirely covered in drying blood.

She did not care about the blood, looking at each of her companions in turn. They were missing someone. “Where is he?”

“You’re bleeding!” Vaan shrieked.

“Not my blood,” shrugged Drace. “Now, where is Lord Larsa?”

The answer came from Fran. “He found his cortege back, and Penelo with it.” The viera smiled at Drace. “They are both at the Marquis’s Estate, and Judge Ghis with them.”

“I am relieved to hear that.”

Balthier sighed, hands on his hips. “And you did not think it would be a good idea to tell us it was the Princeling before!”

Drace felt genuinely sorry, her eyes meeting Balthier’s annoyed glare. “I thought you had recognised him… from the way you talked to him.”

“I had, in all honesty, a hunch,” Balthier admitted. “It should have been obvious when you jumped on that trap for him. Children grow up fast, don’t they?”

“He will be a fine young man, and a very good ruler…”

“I do not doubt it, Drace…” chimed in Balthier, all resentment gone from his voice.

“… but I wish I could protect him from this war,” Drace finished.  “He is still so young.”

“I know.” Balthier put a comforting hand on Drace’s shoulder. “But you cannot protect anybody if you’re dead.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you reek of Bangaa, so let’s get you cleaned up. We can’t have you meet the Marquis looking like that.”

Meet the Marquis? Before Drace could satisfy her curiosity, Balthier and Fran had turned around, and were walking towards the fountain of the Lhusu Square. The water ran clear and cold there, and its sight reminded Drace of how thirsty and tired this fight had made her.

She sat down on the edge of the fountain, cupping her hands to drink. It felt heavenly.

“So,” Drace announced once her thirst was sated, “who begins?”

Balthier shot a glance at Vaan, who seemed equally excited to tell the story of what had happened to them, and to hear Drace’s. “Go ahead, Your Honor,” said Balthier.

“Stop calling me like this,” began Drace. She cleared her throat. “So, as you all know, I stayed behind in the Mines because that filthy bounty hunter had dared to threaten Lord Larsa…” She fished for a clean cloth in her bag, wetting it in the fountain and cleaning up her face of the blood. She kept most of the gory details out of her storytelling, cleaning with more care the gash at the back of her leg, and accepting Basch’s help for cleaning the cut at her neck. “… But can you believe it? They travel freely throughout Ivalice, kill, kidnap and pillage because the Ninth Bureau allows it!”

“Come on,” quipped Balthier, “do not tell me the corruption of the Empire is alien to you.”

Drace threw the bloodied cloth away, her voice angry. “Of course not! But they would have attacked Lord Larsa, or done worse to him! They are under Judge Gabranth’s direct authority, and the Young Lord is as much his charge as it is mine!” Drace’s tone went from furious to tired in less than a second. “I knew he changed, these last years… I had foolish hopes.”

Basch looked devastated. He was sitting beside Drace, and they locked eyes. They would have much to tell each other, in the near future.

Vaan was puzzled, and for once, Balthier looked like he genuinely regretted his words. Remorse and Balthier had never been close friends, and so the sky pirate leaned in closer to Drace, “It doesn’t look like you need stitches. Allow me to help with the bandage?”

Drace complied, and Balthier quickly bandaged her neck. He looked down at her leg, and Drace nodded with a sigh. Yes, there too. This past week or so had been a lesson in humility for her, but was not pride the downfall of most Judge Magisters? 

Feeling the tension in the air less thick, Vaan prodded the crude saw lying at Drace’s feet. “So you really kept it… that’s awesome!”

“Well, his sister broke my brand new weapon, so it is only fair game.”

“Bangaa weaponry, half-Viera half-Dalmascan gear and looking more and more like a old Rozarrian mummy,” remarked Balthier, having finished with her leg. “Even the Emperor Gramis himself would be fooled!”

Drace chuckled, soon joined by Vaan. It was quite the disguise indeed. “Speaking of fools,” she replied, “you have not told me yet how you managed to secure a meeting with the Marquis!”

“I tell her!” shouted Vaan, over-excited.

“Yes, you do,” replied Balthier. “But tune down your voice, we would not want the whole city to hear you again.”

Vaan brushed his comment off and sat down on the pavement. He cleared his throat theatratically and, his tone too serious for him, began his storytelling:

“When we ran out of the Mines, there was the Marquis and this Judge, and they had Penelo! I was not happy about that, but there was the kid too—”

“You mean Lord Larsa.”

“Yes yes, him. Fran told me that he would take good care of Penelo. I hope he does, because if not…” Vaan’s words died out under Drace’s icy glare. He glanced at the saw. “He seems a nice kid, so yeah!”

“How about we get straight to the point, Vaan? The clock’s ticking.”

“Right,” replied Vaan, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “So, we realised that we all needed to see the Marquis,” unbeknown to Vaan, Fran and Balthier shook their heads in unison. “I for Penelo, Basch to rescue Amalia… and there are the rumours that the Marquis is behind the Résistance so we needed to get their attention.” Vaan paused, a pitiful attempt at creating suspense. “So we used Basch! He is supposed to be dead, so I ran around spreading the rumour that he was alive.”

“Quite smart,” Drace admitted, and beside her Basch sighed. She imagined it must have been an interesting sight to behold, the Dalmascan teen running around and screaming political secrets for all to hear. It definitely would have been interesting in Archades, much to the Senate’s horror.

“Smart, I would not say so, but effective it was,” Balthier pointed out. “The insurgence was quick to find us, and not very discreet in my opinion. When they realised that there was more to the clamour than just a boy, and that the Captain was indeed living, it was easy to arrange a meeting this very evening. You are free to join us of course,”

“Even if I really doubt Ondore is the ally I am looking for,” Drace finished.

She stood up, stretching her legs. Ba’Gamnan’s blood had nicely stained her chest plate, but there was no time to fix it. She then looked into her bag, maybe it would be a good idea to replenish her potion stock.

“How long do we have? I might have some shopping to do”

“Oh,” answered Balthier. “Several hours I’d say, it’s not even the mid-afternoon. Besides, we all need to get prepared. Say we meet at the Cloudborne, when the sun sets.”

The all agreed, and split their way.

During the hours that followed, Drace slowly walked the sloping streets of Bhujerba, listening to the chatter of street vendors and enjoying the air. She bought some first aid supplies and food rations. It would have been so different, had she been wearing her armour! Now she was just a stranger in a strange crowd, a Hume like any other. Had her mind and heart not been plagued by worries, she would have found it liberating.

Hours ticked by, and Drace found herself in the Magick shop, looking at the spells. After many minutes spent hesitating and a shopkeeper eyeing her suspiciously, the door finally opened and a newcomer went it, distracting the shopkeeper. Drace cast a side glance at the customer. It was Fran, and the viera noticed her at once. In a few long steps she was beside Drace.

“Looking for something?”

Drace was taken aback by the question. Fran was usually quite taciturn…

“I do not know. Curative spells are not my forte, but I wonder if knowing Raise could come in handy.”

Fran cocked her head to the side. “It might.” Drace smiled, used her remaining gil to buy the spell ‘Raise’. She would need training, learning the spell by heart was not enough, but it was a good start already. Fran followed her out of the shop, having not bought anything.

The sun was getting low, and they wordlessly decided to wait for the others at the Cloudborne. It seemed to Drace that Fran wanted to say something to her, but did not know where to begin.

“Are you sure Ondore is not the ally you are looking for?” The viera asked softly after some time.

Drace closed her eyes. She did not know. She was lost.

“No. Nothing is sure anymore. He is against Vayne, and so am I, but from what I know he does not bear the Empire in his heart, and I… I just don’t know. Everything seems alien to me. Knowledge, people, even myself. Never had I imagined that being cast away would damage me so much…”

She felt Fran’s hand on her shoulder. “I know that feeling.”

They remained in companionable silence then, Drace not knowing what to answer. They watched the passer-bys, yet Drace could feel Fran’s eyes on her.

In the minutes that followed, the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the high Bhujerban buildings, and their companions joined Fran and Drace, Balthier first, shortly followed by Basch. Vaan arrived last and Balthier put his hands on his hips in mock impatience, announcing:

“Time to pay Marquis Ondore a visit, let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, next one will be next monday! The plot thickens... or does it?


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter here ~ It gets posh!

The party walked up the Estate in silence, all five members lost in their thoughts. What would happen? How would the meeting go? Would Marquis Ondore really be helpful? Drace did not like being plagued by so many interrogations. Once again she wished for her armour, for that confidence boost. For her helmet, for the authority it provided.

Drace felt jumpy. Guests they might have been, but they were nonetheless escorted to Ondore by four Parivirs, and she had had enough of not being in a position of power.

Through the darkness of the night sky, Drace saw the shapes of imperial ships moving. The Eighth Fleet, most probably. She wondered if Ghis and Larsa were still in the Estate. 

She would not have to wonder for much longer though, as the doors opened before them, the Parivirs escorting them in. 

Drace was genuinely surprised that Ondore had not ordered their weapons to be taken away. It was not as if her saw or Fran’s bow were not obvious enough… maybe Ondore had given special orders. If anything else, Drace was now curious of the Marquis’s intentions. As they were walking through the long empty corridors and climbing the numerous flight of stairs, Drace thought about what she could say to Ondore. She would let Basch speak first, of course. If she had to split up from the party, it was only fair that she waited to make her decision. Watch them argue, and choose the right path to follow. 

Drace was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost bumped into Basch’s back when they stopped in front of an immense door. The two guards at the doors knew they would come, as they asked nothing and opened the wooden panels, letting them in.

The Marquis’s office was of a size to match the door. The room was circled by large ornate windows which let the light of the night sky in. In the corners, blue and bronze columns to match the motifs of the walls. In the middle of the room, Ondore was sitting behind an immense triangular desk made out of precious wood, facing the gigantic statue of a gryffin which was holding what looked like a chest under his claw. “Good evening, I was awaiting you.” Ondore eyed Vaan, Balthier -who answered his greeting-  and Fran suspiciously, and Drace hoped to the Gods that the Marquis would not recognise her. It was highly unlikely, as they had not met since long ago, but she had not been very lucky these last few days. Finally, Ondore looked at Basch, seizing him up. Behind Ondore, silent, stood a Rev advisor.

“Sir Basch fon Ronsenburg,” he began. “It was not so very long ago that I announced you had been executed.”

“And that is the only reason I draw breath.” Basch’s tone was surprisingly harsh. Both him and Ondore probably did not like the position they were in. Walking on eggshells under Vayne’s scrutiny.

Ondore crossed his hand in front of him, thoughtful. “So you were the sword, he strung above my head. Vayne had left not a thing to chance.”  _ It is only now you realise?  _ Drace thought before she could stop herself. Snark would lead her nowhere, she had to calm down. Ondore locked eyes with Basch. “And?”

“A leader of the Resistance has fallen into Imperial hands. A woman by the name of Amalia. I would rescue her, but I need your help.”

That was insane, thought Drace. Yet in a way, it made sense that this was the reason Basch wanted to meet the Marquis. Since Gabranth had questioned him on that woman… it would have renewed his will to fight. A rescue mission would probably also paint him in a positive light for the insurgents who were likely still wary of  him. But it was madness! 

“This résistance leader, this Amalia, she must be very important,” went on Ondore, doubtful. Drace was not paying much attention anyway. If that Amalia was kept prisoner, there was a small chance she was still on board the Leviathan, and not yet in Archades. Rescuing her would mean sneaking on board the Leviathan. Drace was not sure she was up to that. To risk confronting Ghis… with Lord Larsa there too… From the corner of her eye, she saw Basch put a hand above his heart, not answering Ondore.

“You understand, I have my position to consider,” finally answered Ondore. He stood up, leaving his desk. Vaan walked up to him. 

“Would you let us see Larsa? He’s got my friend with him.” 

Drace did not know if she found his lack of tact brave or infuriating. Ondore nonetheless spared him a look and a reply. “I am afraid you’re too late. Lord Larsa’s cortege has already rejoined the Imperial detachment. I am told they will depart upon the arrival of the fleet, this eventide.” 

Vaan audibly sighed. Drace understood his frustration, but Penelo was in good hands. Ghis had no reason to do her any harm. She was neither a criminal not an insurgent, and was under Lord Larsa’s protection. Moreover, Ghis liked Dalmasca. He always had a fondness for the desert city, so he would most likely be nice to an innocent citizen. 

In the meantime, Vaan was arguing with Balthier, urging them to act, without a plan, against the Eighth Imperial Fleet. That boy lacked some brains, thought Drace, though he had quite the heart. She heard Balthier try to calm him down. Neither Basch nor Ondore seemed bothered by this, since they resumed their conversation. Drace did not manage to catch up the first words exchanged, too focused that she was on Vaan. Yet, some words caught her attention.

“... Surely the exigencies of position are not lost on you.”

This did not forebode any good. Drace was not so eager to follow Basch anymore. And as Ondore spoke again, it became a certainty. “Why indeed, you should find the enemy’s chains an easy burden to bear.”

Basch would accept. Drace knew it. It was the only way to get on board the Leviathan. She had to... “This is insane!”

“Wait!” 

Balthier and her had shouted in perfect unison, and Basch looked at them unapologetically. “Sorry, can’t be helped.” He drew his sword.  _ Fuck _ . 

With an eerie calm, Ondore ordered his advisor to summon the guard. Said advisor complied, and in the split second that came before they were overwhelmed by the Parivirs, Drace weighed the pros and cons of escaping by jumping out of a window. 

Drace hated her life, hated being manhandled by low rank soldiers like that… and chains. She had had enough for a lifetime. Still too calm for a man who had supposedly been attacked, Ondore ordered his soldiers to take them to Ghis and they were, if the word could fit, escorted out of the office. 

At least, from now on, thought Drace, it could only get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one will be up on Monday, and to be honest, the next few ones were a struggle to write. They ate up most of my creative energy...


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies from a half-dead author on not updating sooner. Life is not easy right now, and writing is even more difficult.   
> Anyway, enjoy!

The party was quickly escorted from the Estate to a small Light Cruiser ship, from Bhujerban to Imperial hands. It was not even midnight, but the soldiers would not disturb Ghis at this hour. They would be summoned to the Leviathan in the morning, and spend a bad night in the meantime.

Worst, Drace soon realised they would be kept in separate quarters. The soldiers took her and Fran apart, and locked the three men in a cell. They chose a cell further up the corridor to keep her and Fran. It was clever, thought Drace. Communicating was almost entirely out of the question now. Escaping too, of course, since the soldiers took their weapons away, taking also their armours. Drace felt vulnerable without the mask, but if the soldiers recognised her as they locked her up, they did not show it. 

The door closed behind them. Drace looked at her surroundings. It seemed at a glance more difficult to break out of here than out of Nalbina, as strange as it sounded. The door was made of sturdy metal, and the furniture was reduced to the bare necessities. No windows, no object strong enough to break the door. Fran’s eyes met Drace and they shared a thought: they had reached the same conclusion. Without a word, they both sat down on the bench, side by side.

Thinking about the day’s events, Drace’s mind was in a turmoil. She did not know what to think anymore. She did not like Basch’s plan, not at all, but she had to admit that it was the only way to get to the insurgent prisoner. Once in Vayne’s clutches, she would be as good as dead. But what about them?

They were in the oven. The Leviathan was the top ship of the Eighth Fleet, full of trained soldiers. Worse, they were bound to meet, if not confront Ghis. 

Ghis. He had never been Drace’s enemy. She did not want to fight him. Vayne had had no reason not to tell him the truth about her fate, so he would know… he would recognise her. Whatever he would decide for her fate, she preferred not to know.

Overwhelmed by her thoughts, Drace hid her face in her hands and swallowed back a sob. In less than a week, she had lost everything and barely escaped with her life. The next day she might lose that as well. 

Drace almost jumped in surprise when a soft hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her dark thoughts.

Fran was looking at her, her deep red eyes devoid of judgement. She moved her hand in soothing circles on Drace’s shoulder.

“I am sorry.” Drace’s eyes were full of confusion at Fran’s words, and she did not answer at once, so the Viera went on, “I apologise that you have to go through this.”

Drace forced herself to smile. “You don’t have to. It was my choice to follow you.”

Fran crooked an eyebrow. “Was it?”

Fran had not meant ill by it, but her words hit Drace right in the chest. She was dumbstruck. Was it her choice? What choice did she have, now that she was dead, ashes discarded to the four winds along with her honor, her life? 

She had held on through sheer willpower, using her love for Larsa to fuel her will to fight, but even that energy was nearing its end.

“I don’t know.” Drace’s voice was full of tears that refused to spill. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

It was more difficult to admit this feeling than to think about it. Nothing in her life made sense. 

“I don’t know if I want to go on like this.”

“I understand.”

Drace looked at Fran, her eyes full of questions. Yet she said nothing. If Fran really understood, if Fran had lived a similar experience, Drace would never pressure her into sharing the story. A few minutes passed in silence, until Fran began speaking: 

“Vieras do not live out of the wood. The law of the Greenword wills it.” Her voice was soft and slow. “I chose to leave the wood’s embrace, sick of its laws. I too, was torn between my morals and my family. I was lost. The world was hostile, unknown. Not a friendly face around--”

“And no way to go back,” finished Drace. They understood each other. Years apart, however different they were, they had walked a similar path.

Fran slowly nodded. “These were the darkest years of my long life.” She smiled, her hand still on Drace’s shoulder. “But I found a purpose again.”

“Balthier?” The instant she asked, Drace regretted the question. Fran and Balthier’s relationship was not her business, and she felt like she was invading the Viera’s privacy. Yet Fran did not look offended. 

“I would say… more Sky Piracy than a person, but Balthier played a very important role, that he still holds.” Her words were full of memories, slowing down the time in the cell. “We were both lost when the gods willed us to meet.”

Drace understood the unsaid behind Fran’s words. They were lost and had walked this foreign path together, finding themselves again on the way. It was beautiful, in its own desperate way.

“Balthier… I never thought I would meet him again. If I didn't know better I’d say it was fate. Yet I know now, I followed him as much to survive than because he was an unexpected tie to my past life.”

Fran did not answer at once. She seemed to ponder what answer would be the best, the less hurtful. Yet Drace did not care about hurting her own feelings. She felt angry at being so miserable. She perhaps wanted Fran to judge her, to tell her she had been wrong. 

“Sometimes, finding the key to the future requires looking at the past.” Fran’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. It took Drace a few seconds to make sense of what she had just said. The future. The future was a great dark unknown at the moment, and Drace had trouble understanding how looking at the past could help her. It maybe held the solution, somewhere far far away, but Drace could not see this far yet. She sighed.

“The future. I wish I could see a glimpse of it. To have a clue, anything that could help me.”

“Is it that note?” Fran asked. “Maybe the solution is easier than it seems.”

“I don’t know. I thought that trying to follow the note was a good idea. And of course it is one, it’s supposed to help me! But I… what am I going to do, once I find that person? Hide? Fight for the insurgence? I am afraid I won’t find a purpose again.” Drace’s voice gradually got louder as she spoke. She was so frustrated at herself for being this stupid. She wondered how she had been able to be part of the Empire’s elite at some point. Surely she had never been fit for the role, and this situation she was living was a consequence fitting to her failure... 

“Defending Lord Larsa is not enough of a purpose?” Fran sounded almost surprised. 

Drace was at a loss for words. She was on the verge of tears again, but she swallowed them back. It was of no use anymore. Still, her voice was trembling, barely above a whisper when she spoke: 

“It was my whole life, but I cannot protect him anymore. He is out of my reach now.” And I’ve got to move on, Drace thought, but I cannot. 

Quite surprisingly, Fran then pulled Drace to her by the shoulders. Her embrace was nice, warm, and her voice comforting. 

“I would not be so sure, if I were you. We have lost much, and may lose even more, but do not let hope desert you. Whatever happens, there will come a time when you will find your purpose again.” Drace closed her eyes. She wanted to believe Fran, to convince herself there was indeed a better future, worth fighting for, worth hope for. She felt herself drifting off to sleep, her body and spirit both exhausted. The morning would come soon enough, uncaring of Drace’s inner turmoil. She might have to choose a path, to fight an old friend, in the morning. To decide what the future would hold. Slowly, she fell asleep and the night passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. And I hope I will be able to update next monday, and if not, the monday after that. Right now, I should be going back to this 5k word essay on decline, and finish the winter holidays fic exchanges due next week. I'd rather dance or walk a runway.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this an update?  
> Is this real? 
> 
> I owe you all an apology for disappearing, but life blew me off like a twig in a storm. First the ed of the semester, exams, then working on my thesis, then leaving for two weeks in Czech Republic to larp... being sick when I come back, more work for my thesis, a translation workshop, a illustration job. Oh my. I could not sit and write. I could not concentrate until last week, not even proofread.  
> I still have 5 chapters written, already beta-ed, so now that I am back, this fic is going to be updated again ;)  
> I will not abandon it :)  
> Thank you for sticking by, thank you for reading. So so so much <3 I love you. 
> 
> Now, on to the chapter, this has been long enough.

The morning came, early and bleak. Drace had not slept well at all, and she woke up to a dull ache in her back and leg muscles. Fran was already alert, her ears twitching in reaction to sounds Drace could not hear. 

“How did you sleep?” she asked without turning her head, sensing Drace’s movement. 

“Better than in Nalbina,” answered Drace. “I don’t know if I’d rather not be there though.”

“Ghis,” was all Fran said, a statement more than a question. “Are you afraid to face him?”

“Afraid?” If she was to be honest with herself, Drace did not know. “Face him, fight him. Fuck, I’d rather not see him at all. Damn Basch and his plans,” Drace spat, tough she did not know if her anger was towards Basch, herself, or any divinity. 

Fran turned around to look at her, a small smile on her lips. “I’d rather not be here either.” She took a step forward, resting a clawed hand on Drace’s shoulder. They locked eyes, and Drace felt Fran’s red gaze searching her soul. “Do you think we can make it out alive?”

“No weapons, no armour, abroad the Dreadnought Leviathan? I say it will take a great deal of luck, or a miracle.”

Fran’s lips twitched, her smile broadening for a split second. There was a glimpse of satisfaction in her eyes. “You seem to feel better this morning.”

Drace shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I am resigned to my fate.” She tried a smile of her own. “I apologise for yesterday.”

“For putting your life at risk by fighting Ba’Gamnan alone?” Fran asked, her tone dead serious but her smile mischievous.

Drace answered without thinking: “No, I mean—” then she noticed Fran’s glare, and realised what the meaning of her question had really been. “Thank you.”

It was still alien to Drace, that they would care for her. Worry about her. Had her comrades cared for her the same way before? An image of Gabranth formed itself in her mind, and she shook her head. There was no need for that now. Fran’s companionship was more than enough, and she did in fact feel better.

In the back of her mind, Drace wondered when Ghis would deem it good to summon them. She was nowhere near ready to face him, but at least her fate would be sealed then. Waiting was the absolute worst. 

As to answer her unvoiced wondering, she heard footsteps outside the cell, and soon after the door was open. Two armoured Imperial soldiers went  in the cell, weapons drawn. If any thought of escaping had crossed Drace’s mind -and they had not, she was not that much of a fool- it was all for nothing now. The soldiers cuffed them with heavy irons, and led them out of the cell.

There, Drace saw that the boys were already out of their own cell. 

“Did you sleep well?” inquired Balthier with a mocking tone. Before she could think of a witty comeback, a soldier urged them to keep quiet. Drace complied. She did not want to end up in more trouble than she was. It was bad enough that she was unmasked… Yet, no soldier seemed to recognise who she was. She kept her head low, and they were escorted out of the Light Cruiser and into the immensity of the Leviathan. Her pulse quickened up as she walked, cold sweat trickling down her back. 

To distract herself, Drace tried to focus her attention on the ship, its sleek building, transparent sliding doors. It was a marvel of Archadian technology, the kind of ship that would turn a battle’s outcome around. As she was musing over the ship, Drace did not notice how close they were getting to the cockpit area. Only when the soldiers stopped did she realise where they were. 

Fear slithered from within her guts to her limbs, and she walked automatically as the doors opened. 

“The prisoners, my Lord!”

The room was large, too much space, too much light and too many soldiers for Drace’s tastes. Ghis was there, in full armour. There was a young woman by his side. She was clothed like a Dalmascan, and her face was altogether too familiar to Drace. If she replaced the angry frown, the surprised gasp by youthful innocence…Amalia.  _ Yeah, sure.  _ With herself and Basch in the room, it was a festival of dead bodies.

They were pushed forward by the soldiers, closer to Ghis. Ghis, who seemed very happy to say nothing for the moment and let his treasured prisoners get acquainted with each other.

“Your majesty…” Basch said, reverence in his voice. As if a whole two years had not passed since the war.

The last living Dalmasca all but ran to the knight, and slapped him. “After what you’ve done! How dare you? You’re supposed to be dead!” He accepted the humiliation with honor,  _ as masochistic as his brother.  _ If she had not been so anxious, Drace would have laughed at the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. Galant traitorous knight and vengeful wronged princess reunited at last. 

“Come now, come now. Have you forgotten your manners? This is hardly the courtesy due... the late Princess Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca.” Ghis’s voice was the perfect mix of mockery and disdain. He was having too much fun watching this reunion. In the meantime, he did not look in Drace’s direction, so she would not complain. And she complained even less when Vaan contributed in his own unique way to the farce, shouting a surprised « Princess? » Even Balthier and Fran looked surprised. 

Ghis took a few steps forward, and Drace imagined the pleasure he was feeling from the effect his little reveal had done.  

“To be sure, she bears no proof of her former station. No different than any mean member of the insurgence.” Yes, he liked being patronizing towards the young innocent people at his mercy. Some people never changed.

Ashelia spat, not even sparing him a glance: “The Résistance.” 

These two would make a nice couple, thought Drace for a second, ignoring Ghis’s preferences and their opposite political stance. 

Not caring about what she had said, his helmet preventing effectively his face to betray any emotion, Ghis went on. Only this time, he was no longer addressing his captive audience, but the Princess.    
“His excellency the Consul asks the ministry of the disthroned royal family in restoring peace to Dalmasca. Those who foster instability and unrest, who claim royal blood without proof... they shall meet their fate at the gallows. There are no exceptions.”

Drace wondered if they were interrupting something. Why would Ghis lecture them all on these obscure politics? It seemed that he really was putting on a show for the Princess. This man… he was sneaky and something of a rascal. That he was trying to pressure the Princess in front of supposed friends and allies was no surprise for her. What was more surprising in Drace’s opinion was what he had just claimed. Vayne, the one and only Vayne Carudas Solidor, asking for help from the very family he had erased from the world? There was something incoherent there. Was it possible that Vayne had taken this decision in the week since her disgrace? Drace wanted to investigate, to know what was hiding behind Ghis’s words.    
The Princess, on the other hand, did not seem to agree with this proposal. She snapped at Ghis again, and Drace found an ounce of respect for her. To be in such a position was more than difficult, yet to stay proud and hold on to one’s position… maybe it was all Ashelia had left. 

“King Raminas entrusted me with a task.” The room became unnaturally silent as Basch began to speak.  “Should the time come, he bade me give you something of great importance. It is your birthright, the Dusk Shard.” He turned towards Ghis and added: “It will warrant the quality of her blood. Only I know where to find it.”

“Wait. You took my father’s life! Why spare mine now? You would have me live in shame?”

“If that is your duty, yes.” His voice bore no room for argument, but an ounce of sadness. Drace was sad for them too. To be so desperate, facing such a terrible foe as-- 

“Stop being so stubborn! Keep on like this and you’re gonna get us all killed!”

“Don’t interrupt!” 

Drace was impressed at Vaan. That kid had no respect for authority, but at that exact moment, he was right. Ashelia would get nowhere -and get them killed indeed- if she did not change her mind. Besides, he seemed unphased at Ashe’s rebuke. Yet, something stranger happened. Vaan started to glow. More precisely, his pocket started to glow. He let out a surprised gasp and managed to fish something from it. It was a glowing, reddish stone.

Basch was dumbfounded. “Vaan… that stone!”

“It was in the palace treasure,” answered Vaan as an excuse.  _ Pirates!  _ Now Drace remembered Vaan and Balthier bickering about a stone. Could it be? A quick look at Balthier’s face proved her right. A feeling of deep fatigue swept through Drace. Why was she there again, trapped between pirates and political insurgents, in the lion’s den? 

Said lion was ecstatic, his laugh echoing through his helmet. “Splendid! You’ve brought the stone with you! This spares us a great deal of trouble.” Gjis extended his hand, palm open, waiting for Vaan to give him the stone. He would not take it by force, no, not him, he was too good for that. Drace rolled her eyes. He was too theatrical for his own good.

Vaan, on the other hand, was hesitating. Ashelia rushed forward, shouting, urging him not to give Ghis the stone, but soldiers grabbed her before she could reach Vaan. He turned his head, meeting Basch’s ice cold eyes, then Balthier and Fran who both gestured at him that it was okay to give the stone. And save their lives. They had nothing to do with all of this after all. More surprising, Vaan looked at Drace too, searching in her eyes for approval. She took a second or two to think, then she nodded. For all she cared about Dalmasca, he could give that stone. She was lucky enough Ghis had not paid attention to her until now, she would not play with her life any longer. 

Vaan finally handed Ghis the stone. “You have to promise, no execution.”

Ghis took the stone, turning it in his hand. “A Judge’s duty is to the law.” Beside him, Ashelia was enraged, trying her best to get out of the soldiers’ grip, to no avail. Ghis turned his back on them now. He had obtained what he wanted, they were of no use to him now. Drace dared to breathe. Could it be he had not recognised her?

“Take them away. Lady Ashe is to be quartered separately.” At the last minute, Ghis turned around again. “Oh I forgot. Her honor  stays here with me.”

Drace froze on the spot.  _ No no no ! Ghis you fucking--  _ She hated his flare for dramatics. Of course, he had to wait until the very last moment to acknowledge he had recognised her. Drace's nerves were frayed, electrical current running through her bones. She saw her little group be taken away, and the princess be escorted out a few seconds later. Yet Ghis did not look at her. She was left standing, alone, in the middle of the big room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Next one will come next Tuesday, i go back to a weekly update!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter in! I am slowly but surely domesticating this fic again. It's not an easy job, the fic is as tough as our dear Drace.
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling, on to the chapter!

Drace did not dare to speak, she would leave this pleasure to Ghis. If he wanted to take his time and savour her fear, then so be it. But she would not give him the satisfaction of showing any emotion. She schooled her features, waiting.

In the meantime, Ghis was turning and twirling the stone in his hand, speaking to himself.

“Vayne Solidor, what fascination does this hold for you?”

After excruciatingly long minutes, he finally pocketed the stone and turned around to look at Drace.

“You look terrible like this dear.” She did not answer. Her back was set straight, her lips a thin white line. Ghis sighed, and gestured to a nearby soldier, “Uncuff her.” He complied, and Drace unconsciously rubbed her wrists. She had had her fill of irons.

“Let us find a place more fitting for discussion,” Ghis said, getting closer to Drace.

“What makes you think I want to discuss anything with you?” she hissed in answer.

Ghis tilted his head to the side, and Drace could feel his smile. She should not have answered. “Hmm... I'd say because I am not giving you a choice. Follow me.” He addressed the soldiers around then: “I will be in my quarters. I am not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”

Ghis was right, Drace had no choice but to follow him, and so they left the room, taking a lift to what she guessed to be Ghis's private quarters. From the lavish décor of the room, a striking contrast with the sleek and cold building of the ship made of precious woods and golden highlights. Ghis sat on a sofa covered in red fabric, and beckoned her to join him. She complied. The fabric was soft under her, it felt a little bit too much like home.

“So, tell me,” Ghis said, removing his helmet in one swift move.

“What is there to tell that you do not already know?” Drace asked, her tone still on the defensive.

Ghis sighed. “Vayne told me what happened in Archades. I'd rather have your version though Drace. And maybe an explanation as to what you are doing with pirate scum and insurgents.”

Drace did not want to talk. What use did it have, now that she was there? He would bring her to Vayne, and she would be dead. Why ask her that?

“Why should I tell you? It doesn't matter to you. You should keep having fun meddling in politics. Why didn't you put me in a cell with the others?”

Ghis shook his head, looking remorseful. “Drace, Drace, Drace... for someone who climbed the ranks of Archadian military to the top, you can sometimes be obtuse. You almost remind me of Bergan.”

“What!”

Drace jumped up, towering above Ghis. The corners of her vision were becoming red. How dare he compare her with that imbecile of Bergan? She was nothing like him!

“All brawn and no brains. No wonder Vayne wanted you out of the picture.”

Drace rushed forward, ready to strike Ghis. He should not have uncuffed her, not if he was to insult her later. Ghis got up too, swift, as if he had foreseen her action, and before she could do anything, his hand was at her throat, the metal cold and threatening.

Drace froze on the spot, and she felt his gauntlet tighten around her throat. “Do you feel powerless, Drace? Vulnerable?” She did not answer. She would not give him that satisfaction, and deep down she knew it was all for show. He would never dare to go further, had no interest in that. It was about power, an illusion of domination. She could easily break out of Ghis’s grip if she wanted to. He knew it, she knew it. They also both knew that she did not want to. She had fallen into his trap, getting angry. She, who had wanted to remain aloof and above him. He was smart, and he knew her well. She sat back down, sighing.

“Have you ever felt powerless Ghis?”

He sat back down, and shook his head, smiling. “I have had the common sense of not finding myself in your situation.”

And so Drace told him her side of the story. He listened attentively, never talking. He waited until she had finished to put a hand on hers.

“I am sorry.” He looked almost sincere. “I really am.”

Suddenly, a thought struck Drace. “Vayne. He doesn’t know I’ve escaped.”

“Not yet,” Ghis shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t care much. He sent you off to your death, and as long as you don’t come back two days later knocking on his door…”

“Not that it matters much now,” answered Drace. “What have I become? I would not mind being so powerless if I still had a purpose. But I still can't find one. So following Famran seemed a good idea.”

“Better than following Zargabaath’s instructions? I still can’t believe he took that risk for you!”

“I don’t know. Following the note seemed like a good idea at the beginning, but wherever it leads me… I will still be useless!”

Ghis seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment, then said, looking too serious for Drace's tastes,

“You could help me Drace. We could fight Vayne, beat him at his own game. You’d find a purpose again.” Yes, he was serious. His voice no longer carried that undertone it had when Ghis spoke for show. He was sincere. And so Drace chose to be sincere too.

“You know that I won’t.” She got up from the sofa, and looked through the window. “We may share the same hatred for Vayne, but I remain faithful to house Solidor.”

“So you would be my enemy then?” Ghis asked, a genuine question that Drace found almost amusing, now that she was at his mercy.

“We do not need to be enemies. I will not prevent you to try a coup d’état.”

Ghis snorted. “Yet be ready to strike should I jeopardize your cub’s chances at power.”

Drace did not bother to answer to that. Her cub as he said… she remembered how easy it had been for him to let Larsa go free, unchecked in the streets of Bhujerba. Anger burned at the back of Drace’s throat.

“You could take better care of him, Ghis. Even if you bear no love for House Solidor.”

“Please Drace! He is twelve years old!” Ghis said, exasperated. “Our young lord is no longer a child, and it is high time he discovers the world.”

“It is a dangerous world, Ghis, outside of the confines of Archades. I do not think he is ready—”

“Stop this nonsense, and remind me when you of all people joined the army? I know you want to protect him, but if he is ever to reign, he needs to know the people. Start making his own choices. Besides, I believe he might be safer running around Bhujerba than in Archades where some nobles would be more than happy to see him disappear. You know it very well Drace.”

Deep down, Drace knew he was right. She was sometimes a bit too protective of Larsa… but if she did not protect him, who would? Certainly not Vayne. Not wanting to delve deeper into this subject - now that Larsa was safe and sound on this very ship - she asked:

“So, when are you delivering us all to Vayne? We make a nice bundle of dead princesses, pirates and escapees now.”

“You see, my dear Drace, I am hesitating about this whole ‘delivery’ as you word it so elegantly. I think I might find better uses for the young Ashelia than a gift to Vayne.”

Drace was puzzled to say the least. She was curious, as to what Ghis meant by ‘uses’ but at the same time… no. He was a good man, he would never dare to--

“Oh, stop looking at me like that! I am not Vayne.” He shrugged. “To be clearer, she can be a useful tool to my scheme. Given the chance, she will try to fight Vayne. She can cut out some work for me.”

Politics, of course. For a second, Drace felt surprised that she had thought anything else coming from Ghis. Maybe it was not so wrong, and her and Bergan were alike. They did not like politics, and politics hated them. Still, she was not stupid, far from it. And so she found some discrepancy in Ghis’s claims. She looked at him, hand under her chin, and asked:

“Why, pray tell, you keep insurgents prisoners instead of openly helping them then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Next one in a week, on Tuesday! And as always, thanks for reading and leaving feedback, I Love You <3


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos! On to the chapter, the last one of February! Enjoy!

“Why, pray tell, you keep insurgents prisoners instead of openly helping them then?”

Ghis laughed at her question, baring his throat, his gray curls falling freely around his face. For a second, he was younger, she was younger too. It felt a little bit too much like home. 

Yet, Ghis’s answer brought Drace back to reality before the past had time to take over her heart and thoughts. 

“Ally myself with Ondore and his lackeys?” The laughter was still ringing in his voice, wetness sparkling in the corner of his eyes. “No thanks.”

Drace sighed. Why had she expected anything different from him? “How quick you are to let go of the past…”

Ghis stifled a cough, trying his best to look serious again. “Quicker than you maybe.” He got an inch closer to Drace, his voice lower. “Gabranth is in Rabanastre. One word from me and he would know I have you here.” Drace took a sharp intake of breath. Ghis waited a few seconds before adding: “Or maybe tell Lord Larsa. It would take him less than a minute to be here.” Drace knew she must have looked genuinely terrified when he mentioned Larsa. “I was the one who broke the news of your untimely death to him. Vayne even wrote a letter. Poor kid. But worry not Drace, for I will do no such thing as tell him you are alive and here. Of your stay on this ship, whatever you choose to do, whatever happens to you, no one will never know anything. You have my word.” He extended his hand, and Drace shook it without a second thought. “As you said, we need not be enemies.” Drace breathed out. Ghis was a man of his word, and he had never been openly hostile to her. Ghis smiled, and there was no malice in his eyes. He then went to a small cabinet and poured them two glasses. Drace smelled what was most likely expensive madhu, and she drank, to their camaraderie, and to “getting rid of Vayne sooner than later,” as Ghis said. 

“Besides,” said Ghis, “I do not keep insurgents prisoner. The Princess, she was dumped into my ship by Vayne’s men or maybe by the gods… She is rendered blind by a rightful anger and thirst for vengeance. Yet, as legitimate as she might be, she is not alone in this insurgence. She has allies, and would be nothing without them. I have begun treating with such allies already.” 

“You are clever Ghis, as always,” admitted Drace.

“One of them, a former Captain of the Dalmascan knights, is disguised as an Imperial soldier aboard my ship. The first thing he’ll do will of course be to free his old brother in arms. And he has had time to know where the Princess is.”

“You will let him free her?” Drace asked, incredulous. Vayne would be furious.

“Yes. Without proof of her identity, she is powerless. And I hold that proof in my hand. You did not pay much attention to Old History classes, didn’t you Drace?” She huffed. She was a  soldier at heart, not a dusty socialite! “These stones… only three exist. We were quite happy to destroy a kingdom for one of them.”

“Yes, Nabradia. I plead guilty on turning a blind eye on the reasons of this war. Dr Cid… I do not hate him as much as I hate Vayne, but the further away I am from Draklor, the better I fare.”

Ghis nodded. “So did I, until Vayne started to trust me enough to confide in me, and give me special missions. I learned a lot, about these old stones, but also that Vayne and Bunansa do not know everything. They cannot get the third one. It’s deep in jagd, hidden to who is not of Raithwall’s blood. It cannot be accessed without the help—”

“Of the rightful heir to the Dalmascan throne,” finished Drace. It made more sense now, somehow. 

“Bravo. I do not know why Vayne and Bunansa want these so much, nor what is their power- except that the destruction of Nabudis and Zecht going nuts can’t be a coincidence- but i am certain that they can help me get my plans done. And I also know very well that our princess will run to her ancestor’s treasure as soon as she is free. The help I can get from the insurgents is but a nice bonus to these stones.”

It was all a bit too much for Drace to follow. Stones, the war, hidden power? She was not stupid, but she did wish for a more simple world, or just a world where old shiny rocks did not dictate the behaviour of Humes. She decided then to come back to a more pressing, if not interesting subject:

“Speaking of that, you trust the knight not to betray you?”

“One’s desperation is a powerful weapon my dear,” Ghis answered with a flick of his hand. 

“It is indeed,” whispered Drace, reflecting over where her own desperation had taken her. Whoever was that knight, she was sorry for him. Treating with Ghis was a dangerous activity, and he probably was sure to do what was the best for his people. What was the best for Dalmasca anyway? 

“That Azelas,” Ghis went on, “he wants the kingdom of old to be restored at any costs. I am happy to provide my help.”

“Yes, as long as you can snatch that kingdom away from them at the last minute,” Drace added, certain now that she could see through his plan. 

“Well, we did not discuss the terms of the contract,” admitted Ghis, with a cocky smile. “But worry not Drace. My hatred is for Vayne alone, and I too, think Lord Larsa would make for a fine emperor.”

Drace eyed him suspiciously. “You hate house Solidor.” 

“I hate the very concept of blood being worth more than hard work. I may even be some kind of democrat.”

“I am not a fool Ghis, please spare me this.”

“Well, anyway. Lord Larsa has both the blood of an emperor and the talent. He works hard to understand the world, puts himself at the same level as the people… see, that tramp he rescued in the mines, for example!”

“Penelo?” The name came back to Drace’s mind at once. So the girl really was alright. 

Ghis sighed. “A Dalmascan street dancer. She claimed she was kidnapped.”

“It’s actually the truth. Ba’Gamnan did it.”

“Gabranth’d better keep his hounds on a shorter leash if he doesn’t want to end up in trouble,” said Ghis as he served himself another glass. “I suppose she was the primary reason of the lot of you in Bhujerba?”

Drace shook her head. “Not Ronsenburg no. The rest of us, yes.”

Ghis sat back down besides Drace. “You want to join them?”

Drace took a few seconds to think, fiddling with her empty glass. What did she want to do? She had started to feel part of something, and now this… deep inside herself, she hoped that once out, Balthier and Fran would split out of the group and go their own way. Vaan too… he would not stay with the insurgents, would he? This way, she would have an excuse not to follow them. She could go her own way too, follow the note to Bur Omisace or even further away. Yet, she did not feel like being alone. Despair would be a tempting trap without others around her. And so finally, she nodded, her eyes meeting Ghis’s. 

“I do not yet know who I want to join, or where I want to stand. But it seems like… I want it at this moment.”

“I will have you locked in a cell, beside the Lady Ashe. They will find you there.”

Drace smiled, and they both got up. “Thank you.”

Ghis shrugged, “May we meet again.” He called for a soldier, and gave him the order to escort Drace to her cell. Before leaving the room, she turned around one last time: 

“Oh Ghis, you have my word that, in return, I shall tell them nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The plot thickens haha! See you in a week, love you!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos, your love and interest is what keeps me going in the rollercoaster that writing this fic has been! Now on to chapter 29!

The soldier locked the cell and Drace took in her surroundings. The cell was bigger than she thought it would be, bare, with a cot that turned not so uncomfortable when Drace sat down on it. She only had to wait to be rescued now. It was her third time in a cell in less than a month. She stifled a nervous giggle. If the numerous persons she had put in jail saw her now… no this time was different. She schooled her features. It was a matter of minutes, half an hour at most, that the others would find her. She had better prepare herself for any questions. 

Right at the moment she thought that, Drace heard noise beyond the walls. A tumult of voices coming closer, metallic noises. She recognised Vaan’s excited babble, Balther and Basch’s voices behind. There was a deeper voice also, one she couldn’t place. It was probably the knight captain Ghis had spoken of, Azelas. Everything was happening as he had planned. 

The steps stopped, and a door that Drace located to her left opened. A new voice, feminine, joined the group.  _ The Princess.  _

Drace tried to listen through the wall of the cell, but could not make out any words. She heard steps coming closer, and as her cell’s door was opened, Drace felt guilty. She had promised not to tell a thing… but they deserved to know.

“You’re all right!” Vaan shouted as he went in the cell.

“Of course I am,” answered Drace, more confident than she felt.

“We were worried, when Ghis separated you from us,” added Fran, her red eyes searching into Drace’s soul. 

“It’s okay .  Nothing happened between us.” That was the best thing Drace could come up with, and she heard a strangled outraged cry coming from Balthier’s side. 

Drace noticed then that the viera carried her saw with her, and Fran smiled before she could even speak again, handing her the weapon and her mask. Drace clasped her arm in thanks, and quickly fastened the mask over her face. 

From behind, Ashelia eyed her suspiciously, flanked by her knights. The mole, as Drace saw him for the first time, was a tall, strongly built dark haired man. He bore honor on his face.  _ Poor soul.  _ He was safe for now, Drace would say nothing. She did not plan to break her promise. 

“May you introduce yourself, stranger?” He asked then, taking a step closer to Drace. Drace was thankful for her mask, hiding her incriminating features before any of them could clearly see them. She had to find something to say, now. Something else than ‘Ghis told me of you.’

“Come on, come on, let’s go! What are you waiting for? Penelo’s still out there!” Vaan shouted, breaking the tension in the room as all eyes turned to him, and providing the distraction Drace needed.

“Right,” she said, putting an end to the conversation, leaving the cell without giving them a second look.  _ I am sorry.  _

“We should hurry, they won’t be long.” Balthier, who was standing at the exit door of the prison area, added. He was probably as anxious as Drace to get out of the Leviathan.

The whole group moved as one toward the exit then, yet Drace felt the burning glare of Azelas on her back. 

As soon as they stepped into the corridor, an alarm rang, lights above them flashing red. It would have been uncharacteristic of Ghis to make it too easy for them. Ashelia stopped running at once, looking around. 

“Majesty, we will cut you a path,” Basch said, standing beside her. 

Ashelia looked at him then, her whole posture changing, fists balled at her sides. “I will not place my trust in the sword of a traitor!” 

Beneath her mask, Drace sighed. Ghis was right about this, the Princess was blind. And still a teenager, another part of her mind supplied. She would need to grow up a bit, before she was ready to bear the burden of rule. Ivalice’s peace and future was precariously balanced on this teen’s shoulder. For a split second, Drace wished she had not lived to see that . 

“Yet trust his sword we must, traitor or not. I see no other way.” Azelas’s voice was cold and suffered no argument.

“Bold of you to say that,” whispered Drace between her teeth before she could think. Luckily for her, no one reacted, except for a light twitch of Fran’s left ear. Had he spoken out of love for his brother in arms, or was it the closest he would get to confessing his own change of master,  Drace wondered.  

The knight went on speaking, looking at the whole group as if they were military unit “We track back, commandeer a ship and make our escape.”

Drace had to admit that his plan was not too bad. Well, if they did not run into Ghis. She started to run alongside the others. There was no use in thinking about that now, as it would not change the outcome of things.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Next one in a week, can't believe it will be thirty, and we are still in the Leviathan XD


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 30? Can we believe it? I remember the time when I thought this fic would have 40 chapters... now I have 32 fully written, and 52 planned (which takes us in terms of game-plot to the point when they go to the Garifs,) so this is gonna be long. Buckle up my darlings!
> 
> Speaking of darlings, I also want to thank again my oh so lovely and talented beta [Mad_Amethyst](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Amethyst) for putting up with the rollercoaster that is this fic. You cannot imagine what I put her through: ideas of spin-offs (stay tuned for that btw), watching cinematics, ships with minor characters, Ivalice fashion... she deserves a medal <3
> 
> PS: I added in the first chapter notes a thing about ages in this fic. Maybe you would want to read it. It's not vital for this chapter, but it will be important later -because I have changed some of the character's ages. [Go read it if you want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677331/chapters/36422493) If you started reading the fic after Chapter 30 was added, well, I guess you already know and won't need to read it. ;)  
> On to the chapter then!
> 
> PPS: I love you

A group of soldiers fell on them right when they left the room, and Drace was in combat-mode at the second she heard them. The saw buzzed, sparkles flying off when it came in contact with the soldiers’ armours. Drace was manoeuvering her weapon as much as an overly dangerous polearm than as a deterrent. No one dared to come close to her, and soon Fran and Balthier took advantage of that, shooting arrows and bullets from behind Drace. The coordination of their trio was so natural that even Drace was surprised of it.

Balthier would have been the best of them all. He was, in a parallel reality where he had not left.

The last soldier fell, knocked out by Vaan’s sword -or dead, but Drace would rather not know- when Basch and Azelas emerged. 

They asked no questions, yet Batlhier’s glare gave them an eloquent answer. It was time to go on. As amusing as it was for Ghis to watch them run around and give his men exercise, Drace was worried he would grow tired of it and she did not want to face that possibility. On top of that, the ship’s alarm was blasting, red lights blinking from the ceiling and the continuous shriek piercing their ears. They were running, turning around the room they had been in, from corridor to corridor, all looking similar. Some going left, right, on to other corridors. A real maze, and Drace was not very happy to have to trust Azelas for their route.

Similar also the small groups of soldiers that tried to take them down. A mage or a houndmaster flanked by two regular soldiers. And they all fell in a similar way, outnumbered, in a pile of armour and limbs. From the corner of her eyes she could see Vaan grabbing gil and other trinkets from the fallen soldiers’ pockets at any occasion. Drace smiled to herself. Once a street rat always a street rat. 

More stairs and corners later, Drace began to be genuinely pissed off at the Empire's airship conceptors. Soldiers kept coming at them, and Drace wondered if it would ever stop.

The group suddenly came to a stop, and Drace could have sworn she had already seen these exact corridors and crossroads before. From memory, she guessed it had to be the Starboard section.

“We have to find a way to stop this alarm,” shouted Balthier over to the princess, not even sparing Basch or Azelas a glance.

“The Sub Control Room has panels for that,” answered Azelas. “Let's go!”

Drace was not going to question the traitor. Ghis must have given him the correct information. This, as they were running, lead to Drace wondering if Azelas had been making them run around in circle on purpose. Perhaps Ghis had asked him for some time, time enough to brew something in his clever brain. And yes, Drace was worried. She did not want to fight him, yet the more she was running, the alarm blasting in her ears, the more she was sure it was going to end up in a fight. And now, Drace was no longer worried. She was angry.

Lost in her thoughts, Drace realised at the last moment that they were in front of a large door. Beyond the semi-transparent panels of the door, she could see a supersized version of the average control room of Imperial war ships.

They would be getting rid of the alarm, at last!

 

The Sub Control room was strangely empty in comparison to the corridors. A few soldiers standing guard here and there, not as alarmed as they should have been. The party made short work of them, and Azelas ran at once to the security station while the others searched the room and soldiers for loot.

Drace followed Azelas to the station. She did not trust him, and wanted to keep an eye on him. Besides, she felt bad about robbing the soldiers of the few coins and other items they were carrying. She would make a very poor pirate.

Azelas was not typing on the control panel of the security station, and Drace saw him use a key - most probably issued by Ghis, it was almost impossible to find these without a high security clearance.  _ 'ACCESS GRANTED' _ flashed the screen. Azelas scrolled past the security report; a clever move, thought Drace. He then chose to reset the alarm. Not turn it off. Reset it.

Drace was thankful at once for the silence. No more flashing red lights either, and she hoped it would last.

_ 'Upon resetting, you will have 60 seconds in which to dispose of the source of the anomaly. _ '

Everybody gravitated to the security station then. Ashelia congratulated Azelas, yet Drace was wondering why he had not switched the alarm off. As they were leaving the control room, Drace wondered if it was not a way to notify Ghis of where they were, or what they were doing; it could have been a code. She was definitely angry with Azelas. She wanted to press him against a wall, her saw against his neck, and make him talk. It would not be very productive though, and Ashelia was very protective of her knight, so attacking him would only lead to trouble Drace was not ready for.

 

They were running in the corridors of the Freight stores again, off to what seemed to be the direction of the Port Section, when the alarm blasted its atrocious wailing again. Drace sent a prayer to whatever floating island was higher than Bhujerba that they would leave this damned ship as quickly as possible.

Out of a sudden, Azelas came to a stop. “I am sorry, but there is a chance we encounter Judge Ghis. The alarm should not have switched itself on again, he must have noticed us.”

Drace could not help a strangled cry. What the hell? Of course. Ghis would not go without a fight, if only to keep up appearances. He would put on a mock up show of a fight, and pass himself as the victim as the insurgents escaped his ship. It was a brilliant plan, and Drace knew that Vayne, too busy being pleased with himself and critical of everybody else, would not notice a thing.

Ashelia looked as distraught as Drace was, not for the same reasons.

“We should have been safe Vossler!”

“Sorry Majesty,” the knight answered. “But we will make it, I promise.”

Ashelia nodded, her faith for her knight clear in her eyes. Balthier, arms crossed, was not in the same mindset. As both knights started running again, Ashelia and Vaan at their heels, Fran pulled Drace in an adjacent corridor. Balthier lingered behind. 

“You do not want to fight the Judge.” Fran’s voice was firm. It was not a question, and Drace was feeling almost relieved now.

“Is it that obvious?” Drace asked, eyes downcast.

Fran nodded. 

“To her at last, and to me,” added Balthier.

Drace sighed, “Ghis never was my enemy. Our methods and reasons may differ, but he is a real man of justice. Hating Vayne as much as I do. He is treading a dangerous path these days─”

“And to know the lot of you is supposed to be the Emperor’s most trusted hounds. I wonder how many of you were faithful to him in the first place.” Balthier stood behind them, hands on his hips.

Drace’s anger sent tingles down her spine. What was Balthier trying to achieve by saying this? It would not change his past nor his mistakes! Drace knew she needed to stay calm, at least with him. Fran and him were the only people she trusted entirely right now, so she answered, her tone neutral:

“Balthier. You know better than anybody that being faithful to the reigning Emperor is not a requirement. It is the Empire that counts.”

Blathier shrugged, “Just saying.” And with that they were on their way again, running to meet the others in the Port Section.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I apologise if this chapter was not the most action-packed, but you know how much time we actually spend in the Leviathan? I still remember it and it took way too long XD Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for next chapter!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 31, yay!  
> Look! Here! An illustration of Drace's outfit in these chapters! Painted by me! On my art Tumblr! [<3 Here <3](https://reptiliandroidstudio.tumblr.com/post/183490261941/playing-with-a-new-watercolour-set-being-way-too)  
> Also, enjoy the chapter!

No sooner had they turned around the corner than they ran into Lord Larsa himself. Drace stopped dead in her track, as did the two teens. Two? He was flanked by a blonde girl that she had never seen before.

“Vaan!” The girl rushed at them, Vaan meeting her halfway. The pair held each other as if their lives depended on it.

“It's okay. We're okay,” answered Vaan, his voice comforting. So she must have been his kidnapped friend. Drace had barely had the time to feel happy for them that her eyes, heart and whole body was drawn to Larsa. Her sweet Larsa, who walked straight to Ashelia and Azelas.

"Ghis knows you've escaped. You must hurry."

Azelas and Ashelia looked surprised at Larsa's actions -not for the same reasons, thought Drace. Did Larsa know that Azelas was Ghis’s man now? Ghis would have had no reason to tell him... so he must have a plan of his own. Drace was worried, but she trusted him. He went on, looking at the knight: “You are Captain Azelas. You will follow me. We must reach the airships before they do.”

“You would let us leave knowing who we are?” Drace had to admit that for a traitor, Azelas played his part well. Larsa did not even seem impressed by him, and even smiled the sweet, smart half-smile he had when he was chasing after a mystery. Drace, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible by Basch's side, could not help but feel her heart swell with pride. Larsa turned to Ashelia.

“Lady Ashe. By all rights you ought not even to exist. That you and Captain Ronsenburg were made to appear dead…” his voice trailed off there, and his eyes which had swept over from Ashelia to Basch looked straight into Drace's eyeless mask. Intelligent eyes. His face like marble. Drace felt sweat running down her back. A second passed, and Larsa's face softened up again. “It is like a hidden thread laid bare. Your actions hereafter will pull at that thread... and we will see what it unravels.” Larsa finally made eye contact with Ashelia again. “This is our chance. We must see this through, and get to the bottom of it. I believe ‘tis for the good of Dalmasca, and the good of the Empire.”

So that was his plan. Larsa had never approved of the war, even when he was only a ten years old boy. He wanted to prevent it at all cost, and had been urging his father to open peace negotiations with the Rozarrian Empire. Would he wish for Lady Ashe's help? Did he want Dalmasca restored? Drace was confused. She trusted him but...

“Very well then.” Ashelia's voice cut her thread of thought. Of course she would accept. It would have been stupid otherwise. At that moment, Drace's opinion of the young disthroned ruler became more favourable. Slightly so, but a gesture of peace was a gesture of peace, and Drace appreciated that.

She would have had no chance trying anything against Lord Larsa anyway.

“Thanks, ‘Lamont’.”

Drace heard Balthier stiffle a chuckle behind her. Vaan was as tactful as ever, but there was something charming about his disrespect of rank and politics. Larsa smiled, more genuine than Drace had seen him in weeks, yet with a glimpse of mischief in his eyes.

“Huh... I most apologise. Penelo, for you.” He walked up to them and handed something to Penelo, and if Drace had not seen the blue shine reflect in Balthier's eyes, she would not have realised it was the nethicite. A dangerous gift, which she took, unaware of what it was. “May it bring you good fortune.”

Penelo thanked him, and as Larsa was pulling Azelas apart from the group to run off find a ship, Drace kept her eyes on the young Dalmascan. Larsa had rescued her from the mines, and now he gave her such a trinket? She was not certain Larsa knew the exact powers of these stones -who did?- but Drace was pretty sure it was not a good idea to give one to a fifteen-or-so years old civilian in pigtails. 

The tension in the air was thick now, with Azelas gone and the threat of Ghis attacking them. The blasting noise of the alarm did not help. They had to go. They started running, when Vaan shouted, making everybody stop in their tracks and turn their head with a variety of surprised expressions: “Wait, Drace!”

“What?” Drace asked. What could he want?

“That Judge guy! You know him better than anybody here. If we were to fight him like Vossler said— you have to help us!” Vaan shouted, his arms flailing around.

A second passed. Two. Five. Drace looked around, at her companion’s reactions, the most shocked being Penelo -and Drace could not help to feel sorry for her, being thrown in their mess- and the least Balthier. Out of the competition was Fran, her eyes full of compassion and her ears listening to more important noises coming from far away.

Drace’s brain was processing Vaan's outburst at full speed. She would have to keep up appearances, Ashelia did not yet know who she was… what could she do? The conversation she had had with Balthier had made her angrier than she already was, like meeting her Lord had set her nerves on fire. She was on the verge of snapping at the poor Dalmascan boy. Yet, she knew she would feel like a traitor to Ghis. She shook her head. He was in control of the situation, and she had promised to not tell her companions of their conversation. She had not promised anything else. When she answered, the irritation was clear in her voice: 

“If you were to fight him I would be there too, and I have little want to raise my blade against him.” Vaan stared at her, mouth agape. He had not anticipated this answer, and probably was surprised at his own question. Somewhere behind her, Drace heard Balthier sigh. “Yet if it comes to a fight… Ghis is the best mage of us all. He will probably try to use powerful spells against you. His weapons are no less deadly, as flimsy as they look like. Don’t get stuck in the fan, it would be a deadly mistake. Yet we have number on our side.” She lowered her eyes, muttering the last words, “I suppose.”

“Excuse me…” started Ashelia, stepping forward. “But how do you know so much about Ghis? You do not seem--”

“Beware of appearances, your Majesty,” cut Drace as she unfastened her mask. Half of her mind was screaming at her to stop, be smart for once and shut her mouth. Yet, the bigger half of her mind was tired of it all, and so she went on: “I believe we were not properly introduced. You may call me Drace. Ex-Judge Magister of the Archadian Empire.”

To say Ashelia looked shocked was an understatement. Her mouth was slightly open and her pupils round, immobile. “A… Judge?” Her chin was trembling.

“I am no longer welcome in Archadia.” Drace smiled as un-threateningly as she could, taking a small step towards Ashelia. “I had a rather violent argument with Lord Vayne which ended up with me in the Nalbina dungeons. I just had the luck to run into them.” She made a gesture of the hand encompassing the others.

“Why should I believe you?” Ashelia shouted, barely keeping the boiling anger out of her voice. “You could be a spy!”

“Seriously Majesty?” What was she thinking? Drace remembered Ghis’s words. Blinded by a desire for vengeance. “Most judges make poor spies. Besides; do you really think for a second that I would have told you who I was if I was really a spy?”

Ashelia was about to protest again, her face red and fists balled, but Balthier put a hand on her shoulder, saying: “You should believe her your Majesty. She is not known for her tact but she is definitely not on Vayne’s side. Besides, if you want a chance to escape and go back to your insurgence, we cannot afford to lose time.”

“It’s the Résistance! But I guess you are right Balthier. I have no choice but to trust common thieves, traitorous murderers and now Imperials.”

That’s called being at war, wanted to add Drace, but she bit her tongue instead. Balthier, who had had enough of their political bickering, was already running towards what had to be the airship hangar. Fran, looking as calm as ever but her bow ready, was on his heels. Drace went after them, the others would follow. 

Once in front of the door to the hangar, Drace noticed the sky first. Freedom. The way out. They ran in. 

“ Such a great shame. I must confess: I thought you were the one who would help us restore peace to Dalmasca.”

Of course, Ghis was waiting for them, the star of his own show. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! I am wondering if I should go back to two updates a week. What do you think about it?


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for posting this chapter so late. I was too tired yesterday (after a full day of work and a few hours of driving in the evening, and this morning I had needles poking me for 3 hours XD)   
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

“Such a great shame. I must confess: I thought you were the one who would help us restore peace to Dalmasca.” Of course, Ghis was waiting for them, the star of his own show. “No matter. We hold the proof of your royal lineage. A maid of passing resemblance will serve our purposes now.”

The door closed behind them, the noise of armour. Drace looked back, there were a handful of Imperial soldiers closing in on them. Ghis held his fan in a stylish pose with his left hand, and outstretched his right hand. His steps were slow, calculated. The party was frozen on the spot, their eyes fixed on the crackling of mist coming from Ghis's right hand. 

“As for you, my dear... the Empire requires you no more!” His voice had taken a deeper tone, and for a moment Drace wondered if it was still a show. 

Ghis let go of the spell, the ball expanding into a swirl of pure magick above all of their head. Drace regretted the built-in magical protection of her armour as she braced herself for the pain.

Yet, as it should have exploded over their heads, sending them flying all over the hangar, the energy of the spell got sucked, harmless, into Penelo's clenched hands. 

All heads turned to her. 

“What was that?” Her voice was genuinely surprised, the nethicite emitting a blue glow in her palms. 

“The nethicite,” stated Balthier, a shadow passing through his eyes, quickly replaced by disdain.

Ghis had probably not anticipated that, thought Drace. 

However, as taken aback as he was, he got what he wanted, and the princess ran up to him, effectively engaging the fight. 

“Your Majesty does not disappoint! Ever quick to spurn an honorable surrender, as was your father.” How mean of him, thought Drace. He drew his sword as he finished his sentence and got into a defensive pose.

“You know nothing of my father!” Ashelia screamed, rushing into the fight, closely followed by Basch and Vaan.

Drace felt her fingers instinctively tighten their grip around the handle of the saw. She did not want to fight, but it had come to it. She remembered how Larsa had looked at Penelo. She knew that look, had felt it on her years ago. Had looked at unattainable people like that. She did not want to fight Ghis, but for Lord Larsa, she would make sure that this civilian remained unscathed.

Ghis sparred with Ashelia, finishing on an Aero spell that sent her stumbling backwards. Basch fell on him then, but Ghis got rid of him effortlessly after a few seconds. In the meantime, Ashelia had gotten into a fight with two of the soldiers, and he made a beeline to protect her then. Ghis was not even truly fighting them. All for show. The spells he was casting were relatively basic, yet keeping whomever was attacking him at bay. If the others had not been there, it would almost have felt like a training session. Drace was on the brink of falling into a fighting routine she could not carry out without her dual maces. Even inactive as she was, her nerves were on fire, her whole body taut and almost screaming at her to jump into the fight. It was wrong. All wrong, watching Vaan and Ghis fight now. Further away, Fran and Balthier were busy with one of the soldiers, not needing any help. Bash and Ashelia were fighting the others, back to back. 

 

Drace focused on healing the group when needed, casting Curas and staying in the back. No one seemed to notice her lack of involvement, and if they did notice they did not care. She was also keeping an eye on Penelo, ready to cover her with an artful swipe of her saw or with a spell.  

All wrong. Her mind had been molded by years of habit, and her limbs shook. Her guts hurt. Her whole body wanted to fight by Ghis’s side. To fall deep into the routine, to become again the well-oiled war machine. 

A war machine she would never be a part of anymore. She was stuck in the middle of this fight, feeling more than ever the loss of her old life. The loneliness.

She had been stuck in her thoughts when her warrior's reflexes noticed Ghis coming way closer to her. Vaan was very clumsily hitting him with his sword, forcing him to react. Ghis opened his guard, his sword making a large circular movement too close to Drace. She instinctively reacted, her arm lifting the saw to parry, the contact sending sparks flying off Ghis’s sword. With a swift movement of the fan, he blocked Fran who had approached discreetly and tempted to flank him, making her lose her balance. She fell down, crying out before getting back up and drinking a potion. Drace made a mental note to check on her later. 

Ghis turned around, took a step backwards, flinging his fan in Drace’s direction. For a second, she swore she saw him smile through his helmet. Adrenaline clouded her vision. Too much like training. 

Drace lunged at Ghis, and he dodged. She did not want to fight, but she had always liked  sparring with him. Their weapons clashing, their balance, the familiarity. Her old life.

Basch and Ashelia managed to knock down the soldier they had been fighting, and they came closer to Drace and Ghis. With a tilt of his helmet, Ghis swirled and engaged the fight with the princess. 

A shot rang in the background and the second soldier fell. Ghis was outnumbered now that all his soldiers were out, but he was not even giving his all. 

Fran was staying mostly at the back now, an arrow ready in case any other soldier wanted to enter the hangar. It was smart, she had an eye on the whole room this way. She would also be ready to help or cover anybody in case. Still Drace was slightly worried for her.

And at the same time, Drace had to admit that Ghis was convincing at fending off this handful of relatively angry, not-well trained adversaries. Ashelia was enraged though, attacking relentlessly, and Basch made a very good job at defending her. Vaan joined in again. Penelo seemed more reluctant to join in the fight, and of that Drace was grateful.

It seemed that Ghis was slightly losing his temper, or getting tired. He was still defending very well, but slower than before, and his blows looked less calculated. Yet, experience prevailed over youth and tiredness, and Ashelia was not able to dodge his next strike, the sword slashing at her vest yet luckily not drawing any blood. She yelped, more from the surprise than from pain, and it seemed to anger Basch to no end. On the contrary of his charge, he knew how to channel rage, and the strength and precision of his blows were impressive. Drace could not help but to see Gabranth in him. Basch deflected Ghis’s sword, swiftly hitting his chest plate and finishing by a powerful kick to the sternum. 

Ghis staggered backwards, his back hitting a column. His helmet fell to the floor, and not caring about his weapons, Ghis covered his face as quickly as he could. Drace felt sorry for him. She felt the humiliation as she had when her own helmet had been taken away from her.

Ashelia would have tried to strike him again if the main door had not opened at that exact same time. No coincidence, thought Drace as Azelas ran in.

“We secured an Atomos, come!”

F ran took her hand and they started running in the direction Azelas had come from. Ashelia and Penelo were already far in front.

Behind her, Drace heard Vaan bicker with Balthier about the ship, but she did not pay attention, caught in the moment, running alongside the others. What else could she have done? She was on auto-pilot, blood rushing to her ears, to the tip of her fingers. The vibrations of the saw echoing deep within her muscles. 

Balthier was right though, the Atomos was barely a ship, and almost too small for their motley crew. All was chaos around them. Shouts, motors roaring, echoes from the fight. In the midst of the clamour of their escape, Penelo’s high pitched voice, urging them to go faster. Fran calmed her down, urging them all to hide as they passed a patrol. It was clever.

“They passed,” commented Ashe, relief deep in her voice.

“Had we gone too fast they’d have noticed,” explained Fran. Drace’s hand lingered on her shoulder, as much in thanks as to seek a physical contact after the fight. Her hand was still shivering, an aftershock of the fight. Drace glanced at Penelo and Vaan, impressed by how little they seemed to have been affected by the fight. They were still young, less emotionally attached. Maybe Drace was just getting sentimental. 

But the fight was far away from them now, further away each minute with Fran and Balthier’s smooth manoeuvering of the Atomos. Drace’s ears had stopped ringing by now, her heart back to a normal rhythm. With slow curves and calculated moves, they reached Bhujerba below them, landing smoothly in the Aerodrome.

The door of the Atomos open to the outside world, their little group stepped out as discreetly as possible. Drace took a long breath. She was free again, yet she had seldom felt as trapped as now, not even in Nalbina. She knew too much, had done too much, was guilty of uncertainty. What to do? Where to go? Looking around at the busy Aerodrome, she caught Basch and Ashelia speaking with Azelas in low tones. In front of her, Balthier, Fran, and the two Dalmascans. Back to normal it seemed. Was this her ‘normal’ now? Drace sighed. She was back to the beginning now. 

From the corner of her eye, Drace noticed Azelas taking his leave. She resented him, for the easiness with which he carried his lie. 

What to do next? Where to go next? She looked around once more, and Balthier beckoned her to come closer. 

“We will bring back Her Royal Majesty to His Excellency, then decide on the course tomorrow morning.”

Drace nodded. They all needed the rest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter, and thank you so much for the love and support you show, I love you all!


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the lateness, I have been really busy and without my beta I would have forgotten to even post this week, so kudos to her!

 

They were all back in Marquis Ondore's office as the evening started to fall on the Skycity. Ondore was sitting at his desk, lost in his thoughts. Fran and Balthier were at a safe distance from him and Vaan and Penelo stayed side by side, looking out of the windows. Only Ashelia and Basch were close to him, discussing the recent events.

Drace, even though she was interested in their conversation, found herself drawn to the large windows. Half listening to what the princess was saying, she let her hand trace the intricate metal ornaments on the windows' frames.

“When Vossler learned my father had been killed... the night of the treaty-signing, he returned to Rabanastre to aid my escape. There was still time before Vayne's reach extended too far. We thought that you could protect me.” 

“However, when I then made the announcement that you had taken your own life... I must have seemed a model citizen of the Empire.” 

Ashelia nodded, silent. Drace was sorry for them. Before Vayne's reach extended too far... what fools they were, to think it was so easy. The war against Dalmasca had been the climax of a long preparation. Ondore went on, his voice thick with remorse:

"The announcement, you see, was Vayne's suggestion. At the time I was reluctant, but I could not perceive his reasons. Now it is clear: he meant to drive a wedge between us."

Vayne was an artist in that, thought Drace. Driving fathers against sons, brothers against each other... lovers against... She balled her fist and punched the glass of the window. 

The glass cracked, but luckily it did not break all the way. Feeling slightly guilty, Drace was at Balthier and Fran's side in a few quick steps. No one had noticed anything, especially not Ashelia nor Ondore. Drawing attention on herself for such a stupid reason was the last thing Drace wanted. The high-pitched voice of the princess drew Drace back to the conversation at hand. 

"Then Bhujerba will aid me?" 

"Suppose for a moment you were to defeat Vayne... what then?" Ondore was now pacing in front of Ashelia. "You cannot simply rebuild your kingdom with the only proof of your birthright stolen. The Gran Kiltias on Bur-Omisace cannot recognize you as the rightful heir without it. You may yet be a princess, but without proof of your identity, you are powerless. You will remain with me. We do nothing till the time is right." 

"I cannot just wait!" Ashelia shouted.

Drace felt genuinely sorry for her. This feeling of powerlessness, of having the world against you and no one to turn to, she knew it all too well. The loneliness that came with it, in the dark of the night, on the eve of lost battles. Ondore knew this too of course, more than anyone else here. Drace had seen him grow old and tired, like so many rulers of this world. As much as they loved each other, there was a whole lifetime between his perspective and Ashelia's. "Then what does Your Majesty propose we do?" He was right, thought Drace, to try to teach her some moderation. For both her safety and the success of the Insurgence.

"Uncle Halim-" 

"Incidentally, what is the going rate for rescuing princesses these days?" Ashelia's voice was cut off by Balthier's. There was a hint of irony in his words, and that insufferable smirk on his lips. "Food would be a start - the good stuff, mind you." 

Balthier hopped on the large desk as he finished his sentence, sitting on it as if he was not at all facing royalty. 

Ondore sighed. "This can be arranged, though it will take some time." 

Drace did not know whether to laugh or to be outraged at Balthier's disrespectful attitude. A true pirate, wasn't he? He was right though, they were hungry. They were dirty. Political niceties and discussions could wait a little bit, and were better carried out with a full belly.

Balthier smiled, and went on : "Time enough for a bath, I hope. Dirty business, you know. Ah, best bring a change of clothes too." 

A bath. It had not been so long ago since Drace had showered in the Strahl, but she was dying to clean herself. They all reacted at Balthier's proposal enthusiastically, all but one. 

Ashelia looked defeated, hopeless. When the group left the office, she stayed there alone while Ondore gave orders to his guards and servants to prepare baths and a dinner. 

 

A couple of servants then showed them the way to the guests' bathhouse, waiting to take their dirty armours and clothes away. Drace undressed quickly, glad to be soon rid of the grime of the past days.

The bathing facilities lacked the splendor of Archadian baths, but they were perfect. Drace was exhausted, she felt the weight of the world and of her poor choices on her shoulder. Even a copper bathtub would have done the job.

Quickly, she got rid of her bandages and washed herself quickly in a small pool of cool water with a fountain. She was feeling much better, the conjoined effect of potions, crystals and healing spells, and was happy to see her injuries were nothing more than bruises and scars now. She scrubbed the last days’ sweat away with a soft sponge and soap scented like patchouli. She snorted. She was good to smell like Ghis and Ondore for the next week. She exited the small pool in time to see Balthier and Fran enter. She went through a small door, expertly tucking her short hair in a towel.

The room she was now in was composed of a big pool of water, and from the ambient fogginess, it had to be hot. On the other side of the room, there were what looked like smaller pools, with seats carved in the marble. It was opulent to say the least. Without a second thought, Drace went in the main pool. The water was hot, but not that much that it would be uncomfortable. In the distance, she noticed Vaan and Penelo splashing happily. They were so carefree… and had probably never seen such luxuries. Drace watched them for a few minutes, a sweet smile on her lips. She had never had such an innocent childhood growing up in a noble family of the Capital. Their teenagehood must not have been so innocent though, she thought, with the war. She felt a pang of guilt in her heart. Had she not known Vaan, he would have been nothing but a Dalmascan casualty. And Penelo...

Drace dived, trying to clear up her thoughts. She touched the bottom of the pool, and stayed there for as long as her lungs allowed her to. Eyes closed, trying her best not to think about the last days. When she resurfaced, she was feeling a little bit better. She decided to focus on the water and on her butterfly stroke, and so she started to swim from one end of the pool to the other. 

Drace was still swimming, the hot water relaxing her tired muscles, when Vaan and Penelo left the pool. A few seconds later, she saw Fran enter from the corner of her eye. The viera dived into the pool, graceful, and quickly back swam to her. Drace tried her best not to look at her curves, at the way her wet hair clung to her shoulders and breasts… and failed. Fran was beyond beautiful. 

“So, how are you faring?” Fran asked, shaking Drace out of her reverie and back into her troubled thoughts.

Drace sighed. “Aside from regretting all my life choices, let us say I am… surviving.”

Fran lifted an eyebrow up. “You survive quite well.” 

Drace smiled. She had not forgotten her breakdown in front of the viera the past evening. Fran did not bring it up though, and said:

“It was an interesting day. These stones… we knew they were dangerous when we sought them. Clues point to great powers, unknown powers. I do not like them. They stir an unrest in the mist. Balthier can remain silent about it, but I know how much he is troubled too.”

“Do you fear for him?” Drace asked, genuinely worried about their friend. 

“I should ask you,” answered Fran. “You know Doctor Cid better than I do.”

“I see… so much likeness in them, and yet Balthier is so different. He always was.” Drace smiled as the object of their conversation jumped into the pool. “I would not worry so much about him going crazy. I just hope he won’t hurt himself. He cannot keep running forever.”

Fran slowly nodded. Now that he was here, they would stop talking about that. She looked at Drace, Drace looked back. They were searching a conversation topic in the hot vapours around their bodies, in the water. Drace then remembered Fran falling during the fight. She felt genuinely guilty for forgetting about it. The rush of the escape, the adrenaline. 

“Were you injured during the fight?”

Fran shook her head, brushing it off. “Nothing severe. It will be but a bruise, thanks to the potion and crystal.”

Drace nonetheless put her hand on Fran’s arm. “Please allow me to check later.” 

“Of course,” answered Fran as Balthier finally joined them. 

“Ladies,” said Balthier, a hand in his slick wet hair, his voice falsely flirtatious. Both Fran and Drace sighed.

At the same moment, Basch dived in the pool. His stroke was practical, and Drace's gaze wandered on his shoulders, his thighs... focusing on the movements of the muscles. Drace shook her head, sending water droplets flying around. She had spent enough time there doing nothing. Basch's head emerged from the water as she swam to the other end of the pool.

She felt his eyes burning into her back and hips as she stepped out the pool. She let him watch while tying the large towel around her body. It was both frustrating and satisfying. So alike. Before being appointed Judge Magister, Drace had not cared much about nudity or modesty, and neither about the others’ eyes. A lifetime in the army did that to one. She could bathe with a full company of soldiers and not feel vulnerable as long as she could slip on her trusted armour afterwards. Over the years, she had then grown accustomed to only the House Solidor and her fellow Judge Magisters ever seeing her without her full gear. She had not thought too much about it before now, always on a rush, out of Nalbina, then she had had Fran’s gift. But for the dinner there would be a problem, she thought as she checked the pile of clothes the Marquis’s servants had left for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, as always I love you my dear readers, and see you next week!


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Yay! Praise me for not being late :p  
> Praise you for reading!

Drace saw her reflection in the high windows when she entered the dining hall. When she had put on the clothes after her bath, she had been grateful enough that they were fitting and did not smell like blood and sweat. She had not liked the skirt, nor the thin fabric of the blouse, but now that she saw herself… it was humiliating, for lack of a better word. The long skirt was hugging her thighs and hips, the fabric stretched over her powerful muscles. Her shoulders were too square for the blouse, her biceps too big, her chest too flat, creating awkward shapes in the light fabric. She felt stuck, prisoner of the long sleeves and too long skirt. 

Drace took a few more seconds to study her reflection. It did not look like herself. In Archades, as a Judge Magister, status was put above gender, and she had attended even the most posh parties as an elite warrior, clad in leather and metal. She felt her cheeks redden from frustration and humiliation. She could have gone at this dinner after being skinned it would not have made much difference. The worst was her face. They had not given her her helmet back yet. Well, none of them -except Ashelia who had not been bathing- wore their armour. This did not make her feel particularly better as she sat down at the table besides Vaan, facing Penelo. Drace was too self-conscious, feeling her short mousy hair curl from the wetness, feeling vulnerable. Yet no one was looking at her in particular, Marquis Ondore being deep in a conversation with Basch and Ashelia that they must have started before she went in, Balthier and Fran still absent.

Drace mentally slapped herself. Whining was useless, she had better think about where to go next, what to do. 

She was sitting upright on her chair, studying the cutlery when Fran and Balthier finally went in and took a seat. As if on cue, several servants went in and brought bread and wine. Penelo and Vaan looked surprised, but soon Vaan dived in the bread basket, wolfing down on it before anything else was even served. 

Penelo and Balthier shot vaguely disapproving looks at Vaan but didn’t say anything. Ashelia finally noticed that the dinner had started, and unfolded her napkin. Drace and Ondore followed at once. Ondore lifted his glass in a toast to the Resistance. Drace drank, it would have been unthinkable to turn down the toast in her situation. The wine was a Rozarrian vintage, quite good. 

Servants came in again bearing a dozen plates.

“I apologise for the lack of variety of the meal, it was not planned,” said Ondore as the servants filled their plates with several first courses, from pickled Dalmascan cacti to typical thinly-sliced spiced Rozarrian ham and other delicatessen. 

They all started eating then, more grateful for the food than they would admit. Drace had not realised before how hungry she had been. Still, her manners held her back from finishing her plate too quickly. Thus, she looked around at her companions. Penelo seemed to be struggling with which item of cutlery to use first, which glass to fill.

“Here, start with this one, then, use them from the outside in,” said Drace, pointing to a fork and a knife. Penelo smiled in answer, and grabbed the fork and knife, using them as if they were a shovel and a quill, but still with reverence. 

“Drace,” Balthier nudged her. “Your Imperial is showing. Again.”

“Yeah, you are all lady-like, it’s weird!” Vaan added, mouth full of food. Drace had to crack a smile. It was uncharacteristic of her to act dignified, yes. No. 

“Years of upbringing as noble person in Tsenoble does that to one,” answered Drace, noticing how flagrant her accent was. “And so does sitting at the Emperor’s table.”  

Silence overtook the whole table. The Marquis was looking at Drace like she was some curiosity, and Balthier seemed resigned. Penelo’s voice was barely above a whisper: 

“I do not find you this frightening, for an Imperial I mean.”

When she should have been offended, Drace felt her heart swell with too much sweetness. No wonder Lord Larsa had wanted to protect Penelo. 

“You should see me with my armour on, Penelo,” she answered with an uncharacteristic wink. 

Penelo smiled, her cheeks turning a nice shade of pink. Balthier sighed. Ondore, who had been silently watching her, asked abruptly with a still polite voice: 

“And no one told me that there was an Archadian noblewoman at my table today.” He put down his fork. “Who are you?”

She was now more than ever sure that Ondore was not the ally Zargabaath had meant. Still, he was at the head of the Insurgence, they had a common goal… could she trust him? Did she have a choice, alone as she was? She glanced at Balthier, hoping to find support here, but he was sporting his best poker face. Fran smiled, encouraging. This was all Drace needed. 

“We already met under different circumstances, Excellency.” She looked straight into Ondore’s eyes. “I am not, per say, a noble woman anymore. I have not been one for years.”

“Your voice seems familiar to me indeed, but not your face.”

“Under any other circumstances you would not see my face Excellency, and these clothes do not flatter my status.”

Understanding flashed in Ondore’s eyes.

Drace went on to tell the story of her last day’s adventures in a few words, voluntarily omitting a few details. She ended the tale on their departure from Rabanastre to rescue Penelo. 

“I should not be surprised,” reacted Ondore. “It does seem a common tale of late for deaths to be falsely announced. I would not have recognised you, Your Honor.”

Ashelia was the most surprised, even more than Drace, at the Marquis’s calm, but she said nothing. Ondore took a sip of his wine and asked:

“Pray tell though, who was it who risked Vayne’s ire to save you, and told you to seek allies? This person must lead themselves a counter-Imperial movement, or am I mistaken?”

“This person…” Drace paused. She could not tell his name. She could not betray him this way. “This person took great risks for me, and he is more than ever needed in Archades now. You understand I cannot disclose his identity, even to allies.”

“I do,” answered Ondore. “This war is taking quite an unexpected turn, I must say, if Judge Magisters ally with Pirates and disgraced knights.”

“That means you believe she is really on our side Uncle?” Ashelia asked, slightly upset.

“What I am seeing is that Vayne is losing his most trusted war hounds one by one. What I want to believe, is that we are not alone, and that even the Empire itself wants to get rid of him. Which would give us a certain advantage.”

Drace did not want to add to this. Now was not the time to lose her self-control over politics, it was not worth it. Besides, the naivety of the Marquis’s hope was somehow touching. The main course of the dinner had been served a few minutes ago, while they were too engrossed in the conversation to notice it, but now it would grow cold, and Ashelia finally let go of her mistrust and focused her attention on the main course, which allowed Drace to eat in peace for a few seconds. Balthier smiled warmly at her before going on with his meal. Basch and Ondore followed Ashelia into eating, and Vaan… had Vaan listened to the conversation? Drace would not blame him if he had not, as the roasted sandfish and araulne side-dish were quite visually impressive. And delicious, of course.

“So,” inquired Penelo with a shy voice after a few silent mouthfuls of food. “If you really are an Imperial, does that mean you know Larsa?”

“Lord Larsa was my charge more than any other Judge Magister’s,” answered Drace. She did not want to say too much, curious about what Penelo would ask.

“He was… surprising. I did not think that a Prince could be that nice and kind-hearted.”   

“Lord Larsa is wise beyond his years, and a kind soul indeed. Out of everything that happened in my life, he has been the very best.” Drace felt sadness creep up in her heart. He had been her pride and joy and now she was-- She nipped the thought in the bud, and forced herself to scare the loneliness away with a smile. “You could not have wished for a better encounter. He seemed to like you too.”

Penelo was all flustered, and tried to hide a giggle behind her glass. Drace felt a genuine smile take over her forced one. She was growing attached to this civilian girl. But so had her Lord…

As the dessert was brought to the table -accompanied by fine Madhu and impressed exclamations coming from Vaan and Penelo- Drace caught on a few strands of Ashelia’s conversation with Basch and Ondore. So they were interested in going to King Raithwall’s tomb? Drace filed that information in a corner of her mind as she finished her glass. Ghis was too smart for his own good. She started to feel bad. He had been able to predict where the Princess would wish to go next. How long until Azelas returned? Drace felt inadequate, caught in between two fires. Any benefit from the bath and meal were lost, a stone in her stomach as she left her dessert almost untouched and excused herself from the table at the first polite occasion. She did not care for the curious pairs of eyes that followed her as she left, her steps slow and collected. Only outside did she dare to close her eyes, breathing in and out slowly, a hand on the wall to steady herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it, 'til next week, ILYSM <3


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter, I hope you like it!

Alone in a corridor of Ondore’s estate, Drace took a deep breath and straighened her back, opening her eyes again. She had no say in what the Princess wanted to do. It was not her fault Ghis was smart and a good strategist. Inside the room, she could hear the others speaking, enjoying themselves and seconds of the desserts and alcohol. She noticed the tall silhouette by her side at the last moment. 

“Fran?”

Fran’s head was lightly cocked to the side, her eyes piercing through Drace’s soul. “You are unwell.” 

Drace did not want to admit it. There was nothing honourable or logical in her mood swings, but she found herself unable to lie to the viera. She nodded. 

“Let us go to the Strahl. We can always discuss in peace there.” Drace was not convinced, so Fran added: “Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to check on my injury?”

“I did. Let’s go,” answered Drace. She had not forgotten about it, and Fran was right. It would take her mind off her stupid thoughts for a few minutes, and they would be in a safe place to talk afterwards. 

On their way to the Strahl, Drace turned the same question over and over in her mind. Did she want to confide in Fran? Did she want to tell what she had learned? Why do it? And why not? The walk there was too short for Drace’s inner turmoil to solve itself, and she had found no answer when Fran opened the door to her private quarters in the Strahl.

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Fran as she searched through a small closet. The quarters were practical and well-kept, a large bed taking most of the space. On the walls, several hunting trophies and ‘wanted’ posters were pined. Drace looked at them until Fran came back with a small pot of ointment.

Fran took her blouse off, revealing scratches that had started bruising on her lower back. Drace took the ointment pot Fran handed her, and kneeled down to apply it over the injury. It was nothing serious indeed, but it somehow calmed Drace down to take care of Fran. She forced herself to keep the contact between her hand and Fran’s back strictly professional.

“Thank you.”

Drace smiled in answer. 

“What’s troubling you? You are not yourself since we found you in the Leviathan.”

Drace sat back on the bed, eyes downcast. “It is not easy to explain.”

“You can start by telling me what actually happened between Judge Ghis and you,” said Fran in a soft voice, sitting besides Drace.

“We talked. We...” Drace took a few seconds to find her words, and Fran respected her silence. “We discussed matters in Archades since my ‘death’. We discussed Lord Larsa… and Ghis’s own personal plans.”

“And these trouble you, don’t they?” 

Fran locked eyes with Drace. There was an undercurrent of tension in the room, but Drace could not pinpoint where it came from. She opened her mouth to answer when the door opened.

“Imagine my dismay when I realised my ladies had left without me…” Balthier was standing in the doorway, his arms full of their clothes and armours. He invited himself in, and dumped the bundle on the bed. “I had the feeling I would find the two of you there.” He put his hands on his hips, sporting his characteristic cocky grin. “And I have the feeling we will not be alone much longer, let’s change back into proper gear.”

Welcoming the distraction, Drace dug into the pile of clothes and quickly put on her mess of an outfit. She did not put the helmet back on just yet and instead watched Fran as she expertly buckled her leather armour with the precision that came with habit. Her eyes followed Fran’s clawed fingers into her long white hair… Drace shook her head, as if it would re-order her thoughts. Why was she suddenly so aware of Fran’s body? 

“So, why did you leave the table, Drace?” Balthier asked once she seated down on the bed to lace her boots. Drace did not answer at once, but her eyes must have spoken volumes, as Balthier added : “What’s wrong? Are you not happy to be free from this quagmire Basch threw us in?”

Drace nodded before answering. “Yes I am. Yet I have the feeling my hands are more tied than ever.”

“Why?” Balthier asked with a shrug. “Were you not following this note? If Bujherba wasn’t the right place, you can try somewhere else. Nothing is stopping you from staying with us either.” He finished his sentence with a dismissive flick of the hand. 

“Yes I could, but it’s more difficult than that. There is something.” Drace’s voice betrayed her hesitation. Should she talk? “Something I know. Something Ghis told me, why, I have no idea. No, no I prefer not to guess. You would not believe me anyway.”

“He told you whatever to put you in an impossible position with us,” said Balthier with a snarky smile. “Try me.”

She had to tell them. It would lighten her burden, if only for a few moments.

“Azelas is a traitor. He works for Ghis.”

It felt good to have finally said it, whatever Balthier and Fran’s reaction. Drace felt lighter, less of a liar. 

“You’re right, I don’t believe you at all,” answered Balthier. “This knight is even more ‘honor before reason’ than Basch.”

Drace sighed. That was to be expected. “See. I knew you would not believe me.”

Several minutes of silence followed. Drace felt lost and defeated, Fran’s face was impossible to read and Balthier was pacing in front of them. He kicked the foot of the bed. “Now that you say it… how could Azelas infiltrate the Leviathan so easily? And get us an Atomos without any trouble? It sounds too easy to be true. And why did he leave in such a hurry afterwards?” He then snapped his fingers, irritated. “But why?” 

“Ghis promised him to restore the kingdom of Dalmasca,” answered Drace. Now she had started telling them, she might as well tell them everything.

“And our good knight decided that the word of a Judge was worth betraying the rightful heir of said kingdom?” The disdain in Balthier’s voice was obvious, and slightly irritating for Drace. As if it had been easy for Azelas! As if Balthier did not know desperation!

“Ghis is smart. Besides, I do think he used the grey zones in their arrangement. It would be just like him to tell the bare minimum of information without lying per-say.” Drace explained, as to what Balthier replied:

“But of course, he will give them over to Vayne as soon as possible.”

“I would not be so sure. Ghis’s personal ambitions are obvious… to me at last. To Zargabaath too, maybe.” Drace looked around, as if she was searching for potential eavesdroppers before finishing: “...Maybe that’s what he meant in the note. The King. The wanna-be King of Dalmasca. Vayne never noticed because he was too blinded by his own rise to power. Or if he noticed he is binding his time, waiting to get rid of Ghis at the right moment, and use the coup d’état to his advantage.”

“So the hound would bite his master… Anyway. Why not keep us then?”

“He knows about the birthright proof Ashelia and Ondore were speaking about earlier. He plans for her to lead him to the stone.” Drace answered, not catching that Balthier’s question had been rhetorical.

“Exactly!” answered Balthier. “While you were busy entertaining the children Drace...” Balthier  paused, tasting the dramatic effect of his words. “I did listen to what our resident royals said.”

Fran did not answer -she must have heard everything too, given her viera hearing. Drace was too proud to ask, besides she had heard a few words of that conversation. Balthier gave in and said:

“Her Majesty is adamant that the proof she needs is hidden somewhere in the Yensa Sandsea. They were discussing the legends about King Raithwall’s tomb with Ondore.”

“We all heard such legends. Ghis knows about it too, although he doesn’t know where tomb and stones are exactly,” added Drace.

“And thus he let us leave, knowing very well the Princess would lead him there,” Fran concluded. “And should you tell her, Drace, she would never believe it. She barely trusts Basch… she would never trust you.”

Drace nodded. Fran was right. She was facing a dead end there, and the only way out was to track back and return to the Leviathan.

“You see now, why my hands are tied. The best solution is to confront Ghis.” Before he could react, Drace went on. “Say Balthier, will you accompany the Princess, should she ask you?”

“It depends,” answered Balthier. “I cannot say I am uninterested by the possibility of getting my hand on some of the Dynast-King’s relics, but I refuse to make it look easy. Even moreso now that we might run into this Judge again.”

No sooner had Balthier finished his sentence,  than they heard the main door of the Strahl open, soft steps disappearing into the cockpit. “Told you we would have company,” whispered Balthier. A few seconds passed, and someone else followed. 

“What are you doing? This is Balthier's ship!” Vaan’s voice echoed on the walls of the Strahl. 

“I'm going to retrieve the Dawn Shard. It's the proof that I need. I know where it's hidden. I'll return his airship later.” So their first intruder was Ashelia. This did not seem to surprise Balthier nor Fran. Now that she thought about it, Drace was not surprised either. 

“Are you crazy?” Vaan shouted. It made sense that Ashelia would take matters into her own hands if Ondore refused to help her, yet Drace agreed with Vaan. It was also crazy to try to steal the airship of the most infamous sky pirate of Ivalice… furthermore to crash it into the Jagd Yensa!  Drace stood up from her position on the bed. She had to leave now, before Ashelia noticed. Before it became too difficult to leave her companions. 

“Wait Drace, what are you doing?”

“I told you I cannot stay Balthier. If Ghis knows anything… if it’s really him Zargabaath was speaking about… besides I do not want to betray her Majesty more than I already do by saying nothing.”

“I don’t get it. You would run away--” 

Fran cut Balthier off:

“She is right. If she feels that she has something to achieve there…” Fran put her hand on Balthier’s shoulder in a comforting fashion. “Besides, I have the feeling that this separation is nothing but temporary. Now go Balthier, before the Princess manages to damage our dear ship.” 

Balthier huffed but admitted his defeat and exited the room silently then, leaving the door slightly ajar.  Fran sighed.

“This is something that I have to do! For myself and all those who have fallen. I will not be made to hide! I'll fight alone, if I must.” 

Ashelia’s voice was full of determination, Drace thought that whatever Vaan would answer had no chance of changing her mind. He still tried.

“You still have Basch, right? Besides, you can't just go around stealing people's ships. What are you trying to do?”

Drace got closer to the door, set on leaving, but Fran joined her to listen better to the conversation and see what was going on. Balthier had taken the ship communicator in his hand and was waiting for the right moment to act, still hidden. Ashelia’s voice was piercing, angry and distressed.

“I'm trying to concentrate!” 

“That's quite enough, Your Majesty.” 

Drace was quite surprised to hear the Marquis’s voice over the intercom of the ship… the Marquis’s voice saying Balthier’s words. He had had his great entrance then, and shocked Ashelia all right. 

“What do you think? A bit over the top? In my line of work, you never know when something like this might come in handy.” Drace knew that such technology existed, but it was definitely unsettling. Even moreso when Balthier set the communicator to mimic Ashelia’s voice. 

“I'm trying to concentrate!” 

Drace was relieved to hear his normal voice at last. “I'm leaving you with the Marquis.” She and Fran exchanged a glance.

“You can't!” 

“Trust me, you're better off staying here.” Balthier’s voice left no space for discussion, but those who knew him could recognise the meaning behind his tone. Rhetorics. Appearances.

Drace further opened the door. It was now or never if she really wanted to leave.

“We both know Balthier. We know what he will do. I am sorry.”

Fran smiled, taking Drace’s hands in hers. 

“Don’t be.” They were so close now. “Besides I believe you. And I know that we will meet again soon.” Drace froze on the spot when Fran softly kissed her lips. It was chaste, it lasted barely a second. “Go now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things happened, oh my my my! The plot thickens! I stray away from the game! Who would have thought so?!  
> Anyway, for the moment as I am very much neck deep in my thesis, I have only until chapter 37 fully written but fear not, I have a detailed plan until chapter 65 and chapters 47/48/49 fully written (because I just wanted to write this segment. You'll see when you get there. I could not wait!)  
> Anyway, thank you for your love and support, ILY, Sweety.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter my darlings, enjoy!  
> (There is an announcement at the end *wink wink*)

Drace stood on the main deck of the airship, the cold night air whipping her face. If only it could go faster! Her fingers gripped the bannister as she closed her eyes. She would be in Rabanastre in a few hours, but luckily before sunrise. She would have to use every minute wisely in this race against time. It made no doubt Azelas would try to contact Ghis as quickly as possible. 

Yet, the closer she was getting to the Dalmascan capital, the less Drace was sure of her choice. What if she was wrong? Too many questions in her head, too much frustration. Who knew how long the Eighth Fleet would remain in Rabanastre afterwards? 

Perhaps Ghis himself would not dock in Rabanastre, and send lower Judges to carry out his duties. Getting to him would be even more difficult then. 

More difficult than leaving, and that had not been easy. She felt as if she had betrayed those very people to whom she owed her freedom. But staying was out of the question. She preferred being alone again than betraying them. If she had to be part of Ghis's masquerade, then she would be honest about it.

She took a deep breath, and went back inside to her second-class cabin. She thought she would not manage to fall asleep but hoped nonetheless to get some rest, to shake the restlessness out of her system. However, at the very moment she closed her eyes, lying on the cot, her mind refused to rest, supplying her with images and words from the evening past. 

 

_ Drace was walking as fast as she could while not looking suspicious. The last thing she wanted was to run into one of her companions. As her ill luck would have it, she had barely left the docks that she ran into Basch. _

_ “Drace! Where are you going? Isn’t her Majesty _ _ – _ _ ” _

_ “Her Majesty is in the Strahl, yes,” answered Drace, barely slowing down.   _

_ “Wait Drace!” She felt Basch's hand grab her shoulder, and it took all her self-control not to punch him by reflex when she turned around. _

_ “I am leaving, Basch. Let me go.” _

_ “You cannot!”  _

_ “Let. Me. Go.” _

_ She was not going to say it a third time, and he let go of her shoulder, his eyes full of pitiful incomprehension.  _

_ “Why are you leaving?” _

_ “It's none of your business.” She knew those eyes. She did not want to look into them, to see the dismay. It would have been too easy to forget who he was. “I cannot stay for now.” _

_ “But Drace, I thought _ _ – _ _ ”  _

_ “Me too Basch.” Did she? She turned her back on him. “Now, watch over Vaan and Penelo for me, will you?” With these words she was gone, and if he called after her, she did not hear anything.  _

 

_ Anything but the pounding of her own heart.  _

 

Drace was still angry at herself for wishing it had been someone else who had tried to prevent her from leaving. If he had asked… if he had been the one to grab her shoulder, to beg her to stay… she would have. But he was not there. He had had the chance to make her stay  — an eternal and immobile stay — or more exactly to leave with her, to leave Vayne alone with one less ally. He had had the chance and had turned his back on her, on their promise to stick together, even only for Lord Larsa’s sake.

 

_ Anything but the pounding of her own heart and his distressed voice.  _

 

Drace hated her heart. She wished she could gouge it out of her chest. Why did she feel so abandoned!? Why did she still care about Gabranth? He had made his loyalty to Vayne quite clear then. As bitter as she felt, she still nourished the poisonous feeling that she could help him. If she managed to reach out to him, he would grab her hand and see the light. He would heal. Together with Basch, Drace had the foolish hope that they had a chance to save him from Vayne. To save him from himself and his self-destructive hatred. To save the brother and lover they had lost. 

 

_ Anything but the pounding of her own heart and his distressed voice. And over and over in her head, "we will meet again soon. Go now." _

 

_ "Go now." _

And then there was Fran. Drace could not deny that she found the viera attractive. But why had Fran kissed her? And why had it moved Drace so much? She touched her lips. Was it a way to make her stay? To make her come back? I believe you. And I know that we will meet again soon. Go now. Drace could not fathom why Fran would want her to come back? Was it some sort of game? Was Drace’s desire obvious to the viera, when it was still a mystery to Drace herself? There was one thing Drace could not deny, though. She had enjoyed their kiss, as quick and light as it had been. It left her wanting more, wanting to know why. Maybe if she kissed Fran again she would know why.  

"Go now."

Repeating these words eventually lulled Drace to sleep, and she was left with only her dreams to wonder and experience the kiss again. 

Drace woke up soon afterwards, when the ship started its descent to the aerodrome of Rabanastre. Quickly, she washed her face with cold water, put on her helmet again, buckled up her saw on her back, and was one of the first passengers to disembark. 

Rabanastre’s aerodrome was buzzing with activity even before the sunrise. People were rushing to climb in airships, bangaas hauling packages, all under the bored gazes of the aerodrome employees and the Imperial Guards. 

Drace watched this uncoordinated dance for a few minutes, noticing a pattern in the Imperial soldiers’ movements. A section of the aerodrome was more heavily guarded, and Drace shifted closer to it, inch by inch, until she had caught on enough conversations to be certain that Ghis was indeed there.

Drace braced herself. Ten steps or so was all she needed to come face to face with the soldiers guarding the way to where Ghis’s ship was docked. 

But she needed a strategy first. She weighted the different options. She could always sneak up behind some soldiers, knock one out, take their armour… it had worked in the Nalbina dungeons, it would work here too. Or not. There were too many soldiers here, and they seemed to be much more alert than in Nalbina. 

She also could ask to be granted an audience. As stupid as it sounded, it was the most straightforward way. If Ghis came to hear of her presence, she was sure he would let her in. He had no reason not to… but convincing the goons guarding the ship’s entrance would not be easy.  It could very well be extremely dangerous. They could refuse to listen to her, or worse, recognise her. 

What choices did she have anyway? She hailed one of the soldiers, and, once she got his attention, her voice carried a Magister’s authority, contrasting with her appearance:

“I require an audience with Judge Magister Ghis.”

They all laughed. 

“Look at those civilians! Next they’re gonna ask to speak with Lord Vayne himself!” one shouted.

“Who are you to think you can require anything?” another asked, taking a step forward. 

Drace balled her fists. I am a Judge Magister, she thought, and I will have you kicked off of the army and thrown down into Old Archades before you have the time to – “I am an old friend.”

“Of course!” answered the soldier, roughly pushing her back. His voice was full of disdain and scorn. “And what makes you think His Honour wants to see you?” 

“I know he wi – ”

“And how do you know it, exactly,” another soldier asked, cutting her answer. “What kind of old friend are you, a mercenary or his personal bitch?”

They all laughed at her then, and it took all of Drace’s self control not to send their limbs flying to the four winds. 

Before she thought about something smart to reply, the closest one said: “He is not here anyway, so you are losing your time. Away with you.” He made a dismissive gesture of the hand, as if she was a simple maid to send away. 

“Not here, huh? Oh very well then, I will wait here for his return.” Not the smartest answer  — they were all powerful here, and things could go bad very quickly — but she was angry and did not want to let go. Ghis would know. Ghis was bound to come back or come out. She took a few steps back, away from the soldiers, and crossed her arms over her chest, squaring her shoulders. She had time. If she focused hard enough on waiting, she would not get angry at their jokes and quips, and everything would go well.

Minutes passed, slowly. Most of the soldiers stopped minding her, going back to being bored of keeping watch.  The sun rose above the desert, painting the roofs of Dalmasca with warm golds and pinks, lighting up the aerodrome. Drace wondered where the others were now. Somewhere in the Westersand, or already in the Jagd perhaps… Were they missing her? Maybe they did not even mind her absence.

At last, Drace’s dark thoughts were interrupted when her ears picked up the sound of a familiar armour through the ambient noise of the aerodrome. The soldiers heard it too, and straightened their position. 

Ghis came into view then, flanked by two lower ranking Judges. Azelas was following him. 

As he noticed her, Ghis stopped in front of Drace, but instead of whatever she had imagined he would say next, he invited her past the guards with a graceful gesture of the hand. “So you came back dear. I am not surprised.”

If the soldiers who had been messing with Drace had been surprised at her boldness before, it was nothing in comparison to when they heard the warmth in the tone of his voice, and when Ghis gentlemanly helped her up the ship as if she was a lady -which pissed her off more than a little bit. 

Azelas frowned upon seeing her, but followed them nonetheless. Drace was feeling almost ashamed that Ghis had read through her so easily and knew she would come back. She was also itching to rant about his soldiers’ manners, but let it go. There were more important matters to focus on now that she was here.

“Let us discuss somewhere more private,” said Ghis, walking towards his quarters. Whether he was addressing her or Azelas was unknown. On the way there, he sent away his two assistant Judges. “Tell Lord Larsa he has to be ready to meet His Excellency Lord Vayne in thirty minutes.” 

The Judges saluted and left in a hurry. 

Once alone in his quarters, Ghis first took his helmet off, then he served both Drace and Azelas a glass of wine. Azelas, who had been carrying a large travel bag and his sword, put them against a wall and spat without even looking at Drace:

“What the hell is she doing here?”

“Why don’t you ask it to my face, traitor!” She almost wanted to throw the contents of her glass on his already rusty armour, but that was too undignified for her. What did he know about her, about what she had had to do to get to her position? What did he know… he did know about hardship, war and loss. 

“Calm down, calm down, the both of you,” said Ghis. “It’s too early to shout, and I am not in the mood to deal with that.”

Drace huffed, but he was right. Azelas had not listened to him though, as he continued to shout:

“If you know I am a traitor then why the fuck didn’t you tell Her Majesty right away? Why follow me? And who are you?”

Drace did not answer, letting the waves of his anger roll over her. Didn’t she make an easy target for his guilt? She finished her glass. 

Ghis put a hand on Azelas’s shoulder. “I told you to calm down. She is not a threat. Now,” he said while pointing to a map he had just rolled out on his desk, “this is where our radars have last traced the Strahl’s signals. Right at the Ogir-Yensa border. I’ll dispatch a shuttle to take you there as fast as possible.”

Azelas nodded. Ghis  handed him a small, palm-sized contraption. “Remember to check in and give us the position as often as you can. Good luck, Captain.”

Azelas saluted, took his gigantic sword and his pack. He then left without neither a word nor a glance towards Drace. Ghis served himself another glass, toying with the tiny model of the Leviathan hovering above his map. 

“You didn’t tell him what would become of him or the princess once they are of no use to you anymore.”

“Well… he didn’t ask,” answered Ghis with a shrug and a cocky grin. “It’s not my fault he sells his honour and kingdom away without reading all the fineprint, is it?” Before Drace could snapback, he added: “Besides, I have nothing against the young Dalmasca per say. If she is cooperative enough upon our next meeting, I might grant her some power. She can be more than just a mean to an end. And I suppose she is the reason you came back?”

“One of my reasons, yes. I also do think now that Zargabaath might have been talking about you, in the note. You would be the ally against Vayne. As much as it displeases me to come back here and help you in your scheming… your cause seems less of a lost one than Princess Ashe’s. Besides. I know that Lord Larsa thinks she can be an asset for a peaceful future, but I am still wary. She desires vengeance. And I would not want to see the Empire at war; with you I got the feeling war would not be necessary.” 

Ghis looked satisfied with her answer, and did not press. 

“At least you arrived right on time. My knightley pawn is in place, and you will get the satisfaction of watching Vayne humiliate me.” For a moment, Drace did not know if Ghis was joking or not. She asked:

“You have the Dusk Shard, right, why would Vayne not be pleased?”

“Have you already forgotten? I let both Her Majesty and the runaway knight slip away. A necessity, but not a pleasing one.” Ghis looked almost vulnerable saying this. Yet, before Drace had the time to say anything, he had schooled his features and he said, “Care to come and see for yourself? As long as you do not lose control and stab Vayne just yet… you have my word I will not betray you.” 

Drace took a few seconds to think. She did not want to see Vayne. It would be dangerous, it could be a trap. Yet, she would escort Lord Larsa, a part of her mind argued. He would be so close to her, and she would see him safe with Vayne… Safe? With Vayne? At least there should be Gabranth too –

“I will come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> *coughs*  
> So.  
> I know i tagged this fic as a fix it but since i changed some stuff in my planning, there might be more tragedy and not so fix-it-worth stuff in some of the last chapters. I didn’t feel like backstabbing you so take this as a nice little warning from your friendly neighborhood author.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lot thickens... Always all thanks go to my dear beta Mad_Amethyst and to you for reading! :)  
> Enjoy this new chapter!

Drace was amazed at how little time it took Ghis to find an armour that fitted her. She was walking right behind him, Lord Larsa on her left. There were five other soldiers with them. The escort was walking at a steady pace through Rabanastre, mindless of the civilians around them, cleaving through the crowds. For all she cared about it, Drace found the Royal Palace beautiful in the early morning light, the dew glistening with the sunrays on the roofs. Larsa seemed lost in thought, looking at his feet rather than at the beautiful architecture he was usually so fond of.

Drace was itching to reach out to him, to comfort him. However, before she had time to worry too much about what was on Larsa’s mind, they had arrived. 

"Lord Vayne is awaiting your arrival, your Honor," said the guard at the front gate of the palace when he saw Ghis. 

The guard ordered his comrades to open the gate, and Drace felt a chill run down her spine as soon as she set a foot inside. Why had she accepted to come? Why had Ghis asked her? The closest they got to Vayne, the more she thought it had to be a trap. She was a fool, and Ghis was going to hand her over to Vayne. No, another part of her mind supplied. He had given her his word, and Ghis was a man of his word. No need to worry, Drace kept repeating under her breath. No need to worry.   

Vayne was waiting for them in the throne room, and it took them a few minutes of walking down marbled corridors and soft-coloured curtains to reach it. It was the first time Drace set foot in the throne room of the Dalmascan line, and for a short instant the beauty took her breath away. It was in every point different from the Imperial Palace’s severe beauty, a jewel of architecture and decoration. Her reverie was cut off by Vayne’s voice as he rose from the throne, quickly greeting Ghis before addressing Larsa. His voice was thick with honey and Larsa answered in kind, yet Drace heard the undertones of worry in Larsa’s tone, the underlying tension in the bend of his hand, in his legs. Every hair on her body was on edge. She did not like to see the two of them so close. What little trust she had had for Vayne had rightfully vanished, he meant danger. Nothing else. 

However, Drace did not give herself away, and she remained standing straight, immobile with the escort as Vayne embraced his little brother. 

They exchanged a few more words until the sound of steps caught everybody’s attention. 

Gabranth. There was no doubt. Drace knew these steps. She closed her eyes, breathed in. Everything was going to be okay. 

Gabranth walked in the room, giving a quick salute to which only Ghis answered.

“Ah Gabranth, right on time,” said Vayne instead. “You will escort my dear Larsa to his quarters please. Come back at once after.”

“My Lord.”

Larsa and Gabranth left the throne room then, and Drace wondered which one of them was in most of a hurry to leave Vayne. Gabranth had not taken his helmet away, and so she had not been able to see any emotion, anything to give away his feelings. How was he coping? 

Drace knew she would not get an answer anytime soon, but she felt relieved having seen him. At least Lord Larsa was with him now, in good hands. Perhaps, Lord Larsa would tell Gabranth of what had happened on the Leviathan? Perhaps, he would help Gabranth realise Vayne’s way was not the only way. Drace had hope. A fool’s hope. 

“I think the discussion we are about to have should be private, don’t you agree?” Vayne asked Ghis then, his thoughtful gaze on the escort of soldiers. 

“I suppose yes, your Excellency,” answered Ghis. "Wait for me outside." 

The six of them obeyed the order at once, and the guards closed the door as they stayed outside in silence. 

The walls and door were thick, and they only heard muffled voices, in the few minutes that followed. Drace could not decipher any words, only the voices. Vayne’s more often than Ghis’s. They had to be talking about the nethicite and about the Lady Ashe. Drace remembered Ghis had thought Vayne woud humiliate him. At least, Vayne had allowed him some privacy, and she was grateful for that. 

Something else Drace soon found herself grateful for was the escort soldiers’ mutism. They had been more talkative on duty, in her memories of her young years in the army. Truthfully, there was not an impending war of empires back then. Emperor Gramis was younger and still had all his sons alive or to be born. It sounded like a better place. 

Before Drace became lost in her nostalgic thoughts, Gabranth came back alone. How long had it been already since-- 

Drace instinctively wanted to ask him for news about Larsa, but it would be the most stupid way to give herself away. She trusted Gabranth to take good care of him. There was no one else here who could do it anyway. Not that she did not trust Zargabaath with Larsa’s safety and well being, but she knew that he would always put the empire before the emperor. She was not lawful enough to do that, it was not in her core. What was Arcadia without its head?

Gabranth waited at the door, making a very good job at ignoring the soldiers. One of the guards knocked on the door on his behalf, and announced him to Vayne. 

"Come in. We had finished anyway," stated Vayne. “Judge Ghis was about to take his leave.”

Gabranth stepped in the room, meeting Ghis halfway. Drace noticed how stiff the both of them were then.

“Oh Ghis?" Vayne asked as Ghis was on his way out, making him stop dead in his tracks and almost flinch, like he was anticipating a blow. "After further investigations, Gabranth has had reason to believe that you-know-who might have escaped at the same time as our runaway knight. You would not have encountered her by chance?”

Drace’s breath quickened. Of course her escape would not have gone unnoticed for long. And Ghis would only have to point at her and he would be redeemed of letting the princess go. Her, dead. Cold sweat was beading down her back. Dead. Dead. She held her breath.

However, Ghis was well-versed in the art of lying. He barely tilted his head to the side, his voice confident: “She wasn’t with him.” 

Drace breathed out in relief. She was beyond grateful. It would have been so easy for Ghis to give her away, and yet he had kept a straight face -one of the perks of the Magisters’ helmets- and lied to Vayne. 

“But do you have any proof she escaped with him?”

Vayne’s eyes widened at the question. Drace too, was taken aback. Why would Ghis ask such a question?  

“The same day the captain escaped, the prison staff reported to Gabranth that a soldier was found unconscious and stripped of his armour. Several members of Gabranth’s escort testified that they noticed someone missing from the escort on the way out of the Oubliette. It also makes sense that Drace would know about the existence of the Passage.” Vayne’s voice had taken an unsettling tone as he finished his explanation.

 

“She asked me I remember…" Gabranth's voice was hoarse, and the strain in his back was even more obvious than before. "She asked if I planned to pay him a visit--"

“She probably had everything planned," cut him Vayne in a voice that was far too smooth to be well-intentioned. "Surprising you and your men did not notice, Gabranth. Did your closeness with her blind you to her true intentions?”

“My Lord…”

Vayne turned around, his eyes sharp and burning. Drace did not know anymore whether to pray for Gabranth's safety or for her own. 

“She cannot have operated alone. Gabranth? I want you to investigate on this matter in Archades." Vayne smiled. He smiled like a very snug, very large cat. "If you think you are up to the task that your liege gives you, and your feelings won’t get in the way.”

“There were never any feelings involved my Lord. I should have killed her when I had the chance.”

It took a few seconds for Drace to register the words. Her eyes were fixed on Vayne’s predatory grin, her muscles tense like a bowstring. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had expected anger. 

_ I should have killed her when I had the chance. _

If any more words were exchanged Drace did not hear them. The escort left the palace, and her body was on autopilot, walking in line with the others. Her mind was lost somewhere else. Far below. Something had broken inside her. A barrier to keep her mind safe. There were not tears in her eyes yet, nothing. Her breath slow and steady. So it was like that. Vayne truly had managed to turn Gabranth against everyone, a puppet to his will poisoning love with hatred. 

Drace had hoped she could.

Hoped.

_ I thought I could save you. _

 

_ "But Drace, I thought--"  _

_ "Me too Basch." _

_ Did she?  _

 

_ Why did she feel so abandoned!? Why did she still care about Gabranth? _

 

_ She wished Gabranth had talked to her of his brother without hatred and resentment. She could have helped, maybe… she would have helped them. _

_ Maybe... it was then she had started to lose Gabranth.  _

 

_ “We were more than comrades, we were... friends. Now... now I don’t recognise him anymore.” _

 

_ Basch.  _

_ Together, they had still a chance to save Gabranth. _

 

_ “Do as your master commands, Gabranth. I care not.” Oh, how harsh they could be!  _

 

_ Is your memory that short? _

 

_ She still liked him.  _

 

_ She used to like him. _

 

_ Maybe all hope for Gabranth was not lost. Maybe the ashes of his heart could warm up again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter, see you next week!


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter <3   
> (Also, as always, many thanks to my delightful beta, Mad_Amethyst. She deserves much credit.)   
> Here goes, I hope you like it!

_ I thought I could save you. _

With each step out in the streets, it became more and more difficult for Drace to breathe. Blood pumping into her brain and heart, forcing her to think, forcing her to feel. 

_ I should have killed her when I had the chance. _

Her mind was deaf, it had fallen into her throat, blocking the air. If she did not… she would choke on the horror. 

Her legs were shaking when the escort arrived back at the Leviathan. She followed Ghis out of instinct, her vision blurry, her breath quickening.

Somewhere deep down in her numbed consciousness, Drace recognised the symptoms. There was nothing much she could do, and when the doors of Ghis’s private quarters closed, Drace felt the first tears on her cheeks. 

“Fucking bastard. Can’t wait for him to bite the dust,” growled Ghis as he took off his helmet. 

Drace felt her breathing quicken even more. She tried to focus on it, to gain back control over herself. 

“Drace? Drace are you alright?”

She could not answer, even if she had wanted to. She was suffocating, and the armour did not help. 

Ghis, noticing something was indeed very wrong, took her helmet off and quickly unbuckled the chest plate of the armour. Drace let him take her to the sofa and lie her on the soft cushions, piling up pillows under her head. “There, there.”

Drace felt stupid, having a panic attack like that, in front of Ghis of all people, but most of all she was exhausted. She was on the brink of passing out, spots dancing in front of her eyes when she felt magick flow through her body. Her muscles relaxed, and she knew no more. 

 

Drace did not know how much time had passed when she woke up. She was disoriented at first, but little by little snippets of the morning came back to her, and with them shame and sadness. She tried to prop herself up from the couch, but her muscles were uncooperative, and her attempts drew Ghis’s attention. He was sitting at his desk, but got up at once.

“Feeling more like yourself, your Honor?”

Drace did not really know what to answer, or if she wanted to answer at all. She felt so ashamed, so weak. Ghis, however, did not seem to judge her at all. If the furrow of his brow meant anything, it was concern. 

“You don’t have to answer me,” said Ghis, sitting down on the couch beside her. “I should not have had you come with me in the first place.”

Drace closed her eyes. If she had not come, she would not have known… she would not have seen the damage Vayne’s grip had done to Gabranth. She would have lived on in a fantasy. She would still have hope, and what was hope worth in this fight? 

“I… maybe I prefer to know.”

Ghis smiled at her answer. “There is bravery in that, why am I not surprised? Besides, it’s somehow comforting to know Vayne ignores you are here.”

Drace nodded. It was comforting yes, this relative safety. Yet, Ghis did not stop here, and said:

“While he loses his time leading investigations in Arcades, it gives us time to weaken his defences.”

The investigation. She had almost forgotten it in the midst of her despair. Gabranth was not at the head of the Ninth for nothing. A grim picture took shape in her mind, making her choke on her own words:

“I— I have put Zargabaath in danger. They will--”

“Come on,” Guis cut her, taking on a calming voice. “Zargabaath put himself in danger by his own free will. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a back up plan. Whatever Gabranth tries, he will outsmart him.”

“How can you be so sure?” Drace was on the verge of panicking again, her thoughts a hurricane of possibilities. “And what if Larsa learns of it? Oh Ghis, what have I done?” 

Ghis got up from the couch in silence. Before she could react, the same magick as before hit her, her eyes closing on their own.

 

When she woke up, Ghis was no longer on the couch besides her, but sitting at his desk, a book open in front of him. He had removed most of his armour. When he noticed she was awake, Ghis got up and handed her a cup of hot tea, which she drank without thinking, not minding but neither caring about the expensive taste. For long minutes, Drace did not talk, slowly sipping the tea. As much as she despised Ghis forcing her to sleep, she had to admit that it had been efficient. Her mind was numb, and she did not try to fight the feeling. This was better than guilt, better than pain. Hours passed and she dozed in and out of sleep while Ghis was working, maps, reports and books piling up by his side while the smell of tea and of his rozarrian opium pipe mixed into a relaxing ambience. So much familiarity.

For several minutes, Drace enjoyed the silence, trying to block out any thoughts trying to resurface. She had to trust in Zargabaath’s ability to stay alive and out of trouble. She had to trust in Lord Larsa’s strength and faith. She wanted to forget Gabranth. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm her nerves. She remembered the few times she had tried recreational drugs when she was still in the army or the akademy, never finding it her cup of tea. There were better ways to relax without letting slip away one’s control. However right now, she wanted to feel her mind drift away from her woes. She reached for the pipe, and Ghis probably did not mind, or was too busy to mind. Familiarity. The smell of the drug was relaxing, combined with the low noises of the Leviathan.

Time passed, an hour or so. The Leviathan glass panels were forming a protective bubble around her, and the morning’s events were more distant, less terrible. As if they were not so important after all. 

“Are you hungry? I still have a lot of work ahead of me, but I can have something brought here,” asked Ghis out of the blue. He got up from his chair and stretched his arms.

Drace did not remember what she answered, but she found herself sitting up with a tray of food on her lap a few minutes later. It wasn’t bad for ship-grade food. Ghis and her did not talk. He still had a report open and was holding it with one hand while balancing his fork in the other. She, on the other hand, was staring at the darkening sky while eating. Or perhaps they had exchanged a few words.  

Of the rest of the evening, she only remembered getting up and being escorted by a servant to some luxurious guest rooms of the Leviathan. Her mind was still in a daze, the mattress and bed sheets feeling like clouds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, thank you again, 'til next week!


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, new shenanigans, enjoy!

The next morning, even though Drace wanted to fall back asleep as soon as she woke up, her mind too quick to remember, she pulled herself out of bed as if she was on the eve of battle. Perhaps she was, as much as she hoped that joining with Ghis would help prevent the war. Pushing the events of the day before in the back of her mind, Drace quickly put on her clothes. 

She then noticed a tray of food that had been left by the door, and picked it up. There was a note handwritten by Ghis too, which she read while eating the Dalmascan-inspired breakfast. So Ghis would be absent most of the morning, but he invited her for lunch and some sparring afterwards. He had also written that she was free to take some new clothes more fitting for her status in the Leviathan’s stock, and that a lower ranked soldier would show her the way. Looking at her clothes, Drace decided that she would indeed not mind the change. She quickly finished eating, put on her mask and stepped out of the room. A soldier was waiting for her outside -poor one, what if she had decided to take her sweet time- and without a word he led her in the labyrinth of corridors to the stocking rooms, politely staying outside.

 

In the room, amidst mismatched parts of armour, an impressive collection of forgotten garments from guests -prisoners also maybe- staff and soldiers was hanging on long racks. Drace trailed her hand along the side of a rack, feeling the fabrics of different shirts. Some were definitely Ghis’s own, judging by the colour and the amount of gold filigree details. She could choose anything that fitted her, and so she tried on a coral red shirt with white lace cuffs and collar. It fitted her but she would not give in to this tacky bourgeois fashion. Drace discarded the shirt and tried on several others -in more discreet colours- before settling on a plain white linen shirt with a reinforced, armoured black leather waistcoat. 

When searching for pants, she found some that had to be Judge Magister gear, expensive, sturdy black leather. They fitted her quite well -a bit tight around the hips maybe, but nothing uncomfortable. A detail caught her attention as she looked at her reflection: a colourful embroidery ran along the side seams of the pants, orange and lime green threads woven together in an intricate pattern.

Fresh in her new clothes, Drace also folded a few other shirts in her bag, and went to her room to dump it on her bed before heading to Ghis’s quarters to have lunch.

Ghis looked her up and down as she entered, but waited until she was sitting to comment:

“I see you found some of Zecht’s old clothes.” 

It was not a surprise that Zecht would have added such a detail. Magisters had custom under-armour gear -for optimal comfort and mobility- but some could not resist adding their own aesthetic mark. Drace smiled. She had had extra pockets sewn in each of her pairs, a much more sensible choice than embroideries. 

“He left mountains of garbage in the Leviathan,” added Ghis. “I did not mind his liquor cabinet though. I had a field day when Vayne handed over the Eighth Fleet to me.”

It made sense that Zecht had left many personal items in the Leviathan, his departure had come as a surprise for everybody, and Drace was certain no planning had been involved. She was curious now, had Ghis found any clue as to what became of him? Yet, when Drace asked him, his only answer was to shrug and to serve them both a plate of food and some wine. 

Drace knew that the subject was not easy -hell it was difficult for all of them- Zecht disappearing had left them with an open wound, and it had not healed well in  two years. She was almost sorry to have asked her question now. She had never been close to Zecht. He had always been close to Vayne. He had always been Bergan’s friend and yet at the same time Zargabaath’s partner. And then he disappeared. There was much to be regretted about the invasion of Nabradia, and about everything that happened since then.

“Well,” Ghis eventually said, pointing his fork at Drace. “Vayne and Doctor Cid have been smart enough to remove any clue of Zecht’s involvement with Draklor. All I know is because I also replaced him as the carrier of Vayne’s little schemes. You should have asked Zargabaath if you cared. He’s the last one who saw him, after all.”

“I was only curious, I am sorry.”

“He’s probably dead by now anyway,” Ghis shrugged. “I wonder if the stone drove him mad to the point of suicide or something.”

Drace’s instincts took over her tongue. “Worried for yourself?” 

Ghis did not answer her barb at once, as she would have expected him to, but smiled instead. “I am glad to see you are back with us.” 

Drace smiled too, and they finished their lunch in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves.

 

After lunch they both headed to the private sparring grounds of the Leviathan. They quickly changed into sparring clothes and protection. They settled on wooden mock weapons, Ghis taking a sword and a perfect replica of his fan, while Drace settled on a long staff.

“Remember what we were talking about five minutes ago?” Ghis asked while they were stretching and warming up.

“Zecht?” Drace asked, genuinely surprised that he would come back to this subject.

“Yeah. No, nethicites,” answered Ghis. It made more sense to Drace that he would come back to that. Drace would not call it an obsession but it was close to it. Ghis went on, swirling his wooden sword around to test its balance: “I bet you don’t know, but Draklor has been doing experimentations in the Henne Mines with Manufacted Nethicite.”

“Like in Bhujerba?” 

“No, on living creatures. Ondore is good at turning a blind eye on what Draklor did, but he would not have accepted that.”

It took a few seconds for Drace to make sense of what Ghis had just said. So Draklor was doing experiments on animals? She wasn’t overall surprised. She did not like it, of course, but neither Vayne nor Doctor Cid were examples of morality, and they would stop at nothing. As to Ondore doing anything… she would rather not dwell on that. It was probably Ghis’s own bitterness speaking. 

Oh well, he would get any bitterness off his chest soon anyway. They saluted, and began sparring. 

For a few hours, the sound of wood on wood echoing in the large room. They did not see time pass, the familiarity of the situation way too comfortable. It reminded her of the years passed, and of the fight a few days ago. Exercising felt good, now that her wounds were fully healed. Fighting felt good, without skeletons or soldiers at her heels, but with an enemy that was not one, but a friend. Someone Drace trusted to hit her but not harm her. Someone she could send flying to the floor without remorse. 

They stopped when the light of the sunset painted the sparring room in warm tones, feeling rightfully tired and hungry. Sweaty too. 

They embraced each other, fair play, no one winning or losing, and headed to the showers. They chatted over the noise of the water, commenting on their fighting moves. Drace could have forgotten about everything then, if slipping on her new clothes instead of her beloved armour had not reminded her. 

 

Back in Ghis’s quarters, he ordered a servant to bring them dinner, and served himself and Drace an expensive Rozarrian liquor. He took a sip, looking at the sunset on the Dalmascan sands, and Drace joined him. It was a beautiful view. 

“We will cross the Westersand tonight to be on stationary above the Ogir Yensa.”

Drace nodded. 

“However I have had a better idea for our day than watching that endless sand. The Rains have started today on the Giza Plains, it would be the perfect moment to hunt the first rain dancers of the season. How about that?”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

Ghis snorted. “Never would I!” He then looked her straight in the eye. “Seriously though. It seems to me you are doing a little bit better. Whether you bottled it all up or thought the situation over. On the topic of the fish… it might have more to do with a bet with the Hunt Club owner.” 

Before Drace had time to react either to his comment or to the stupidity of gambling with the rich and bored parasites of Archades, dinner was brought in. They sat down and ate, Ghis filling in the silence with small talk about the best hunting spots in Giza. In between the main course and the dessert, when Ghis’s words were getting lost in the glasses and the wine, becoming echoes of voices she did not want to hear, Drace agreed to the hunt. She might not mind the distraction so much. 

 

Though Drace tried her best to fall asleep, the voices kept coming back. Conversations from the past and words from a few days before. She had turned a blind eye on so much, falling asleep to petty justifications and excuses. Zecht, Gabranth… maybe even Bergan. Did they know? Or were they only victims of Doctor Cid and Vayne’s schemes? For long dark minutes, she wished she had remained blind. Theirs was a lost war. Begging scraps of stone like the Lady Ashe, trying to gather a mismatched insurgence like Ondore… Ghis planning his mutiny. Lost causes, all of them. Vayne would crush them all, and it would all end where he wanted, in a conflict with Rozarria. Perhaps the Princess was right. The solution could lie in the stones. Not the old one sleeping in forgotten temples. Those that were being manufactured and tested, perfected more everyday. 

Perhaps, if Ghis’s plan failed and if she survived, Drace would try to do something about that. It would bring her life to good use. Now that she could not protect Lord Larsa anymore, she might as well take risks, and wreck havock.  _ Funny where loyalty leads us sometimes.  _

She smiled to the darkness, her tired mind finally giving up. 

Drace fell asleep to the comforting noise of the Leviathan’s engines as it flew over the desert. She was looking forward to the hunt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, thank you for reading and for your support!   
> I will be off larping until Sunday evening, so let's keep our fingers crossed that I find the time to finish, polish, (send to my wonderful beta) and re-read the next chapter before next Tuesday. Else I post it on Wednesday, but I'd rather not be late ;)


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, long time no see. One month, right?  
> I owe you all an apology. I was at an all time low since the last time I posted. Larp bleed, my thesis, my birthday and the existential crisis that followed. I could not bring myself to be active on any social media except sometimes instagram. I could not write (mainly because most of my waking up time was spent writing my thesis, and my fingers coiuld not prodcue anything fictional.) Even loging in Ao3 to give you an update on this fic was too much.  
> But I am back again, some hard decisions later. I am back in (correct) shape, with a nice little chapter that I had almost already finished a month ago (which makes me feel evn more ashamed. Anyway.) I sincerely hope you will like it! :)
> 
> (Also it's chapter 40, how amazing is that!)

It was still night when a shuttle dropped Drace and Ghis into the Giza Plains. The smell of the rain was refreshing, the plains so different than during the dry season. Dalmascan climate was rather wonderful, Drace mused. How the plants, animals and even the Nomads had grown accustomed to these drastic changes… for a moment she wished she had pursued a scientific career instead of becoming a Magister. Who was she kidding again? 

By her side, Ghis checked one last time their supplies before giving her a standard imperial army issue backpack and a nice looking cloak. He took out a map, and pointed at the different locations where they should find the fish he was searching for, also tracing the different paths they could take. 

“The shuttle will wait for us here, in the Warrior’s Wash. We should walk across the Toam Hills towards the Starfall fields and the Crystal Glade to reach the banks where the Rain Dancers should be. I hope you’re not afraid to get wet and dirty,” he said, Drace imagining the smirk beneath his helmet. She snorted in answer and they set to walk, Drace wondering how Ghis had managed to have no escort. Either his men had the utmost respect for him or if he paid them well enough to conveniently forget the rules. 

After a few minutes of trudging through the mud and grass, Drace felt much more sympathy towards the Nomads who inhabited these lands. She was used to hardship in any shape or form, but Archadian climate, especially around the capital, was much nicer than this. Still, she would never complain. 

Watching her step, walking in the rain and fighting the Plains’ fauna was chasing away her worries little by little. She did not mind to get wet and dirty so much, now that she was away from Rabanastre, from Vayne and from the enclosed space of the Leviathan which reminded her too much of her plight. 

It felt good, to rely on habit and strike the bold hyenas who dared to defend their territory, the gigantoads who took advantage of the falling rain to attack. From time to time, Drace would catch a glimpse of a storm elemental. It would be an interesting target, but the rain was not to their advantage. Caution was key for hunters, and Ghis and her were pretty good at hunting. The best hunter of them all had been Zecht, a dark corner of her mind told her. He would have found the Rain Dancer’s signs, would have known how and where to strike it. It’s elemental weakness. With Zecht, they would even have had no problem fighting an angry, empowered storm elemental. 

Drace was so caught in her thoughts that she barely noticed the water-filled trench and almost fell in. She regained balance at the last moment, and she thanked Faram that Ghis, a few steps ahead of her, had not noticed anything. She caught up to him.

“There you are,” said Ghis. “We are in the middle of the South Bank. We should wait here.” He walked up to a large dead tree. Drace followed him. Taking a break was rather nice in itself, nicer than walking in the mud and the shallow streams. How long had they been walking? The temperature was warmer now, and even though they could not see the sun, Drace imagined that it was late in the morning. If only the rain could stop, and let some sunshine through… 

The plains, however, seemed to have other plans, and the rainstorm became angrier by the minute. There were several wooly gators swimming peacefully around, and the wind’s howl was almost eerie. Caught in the thunderstorm, Ghis’s armour glistening, her chainsaw taunting the lightning, they were a rather beautiful anomaly. 

An elbow jab in her ribs tore Drace out of her aesthetic musings.

“There,” mouthed Ghis with the smallest movement of the head. 

Drace followed the movement and saw it. The Rain Dancer, its green and gold scales sleek with water, expertly flying and plunging. She understood why these bored Archadian nobles were so keen on getting such a trophy. It was truly a beautiful creature. She smiled and tightened her grip on the saw’s handle.   

Drace also soon understood why the same bored Archadian nobles would never hunt this mark themselves. The Rain Dancer attacked relentlessly, making use of the mud and water around them. It was its elements, small and swift, and Drace and Ghis were too tall, too heavy, too armoured. The Rain Dancer kept turning around them, hitting them with its tail fin.

Drace and Ghis were fighting back to back, trying to minimise the damage. From time to time, the Rain Dancer lunged forward, biting into their armours with its sharp teeth. From time to time Ghis or Drace lunged at it before it could bite, the sound of the metal weapons against its slippery scales a contrast to the rumbling thunder. That fish was fast. Faster than them, evading most of their attacks. The fight had been going on for a few minutes when Drace managed to push her saw between the Rain Dancer’s jaws. The pain seemed to drive the fish crazy, and it wiggled around, pulling on the saw as Drace kept pushing. That fish was surprisingly strong, and the rain did not make it any easier.

“Do something!” Drace shouted at Ghis, feeling the handle slowly slipping from her fingers.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ghis prepare a spell. She felt power swirl around them, and let go of the saw’s handle at the last moment, ducking the fireball that flew past her shoulder. The Rain Dancer fell dead in the mud. Drace could not prevent a cheerful victory shout from escaping her lips. 

“Damn, I hope the fire did not damage its scales too much!” Ghis walked past Drace, picked up the corpse of the Rain Dancer and inspected it closely. Satisfied, he took a burlap sack out of his bag and put the fish inside. “I should have thought of the spell earlier.” 

“Nobody’s perfect,” said Drace as she picked up the saw from the muddy water. “Though I have to admit I enjoyed this very much, it was a good idea,” she added before Ghis could complain.

“The fire spell or the hunt?” asked Ghis, though his tone of voice made it clear he was not waiting for an answer, and his question was more friendly banter than anything else. Drace laughed. Ghish had been right, hunting felt good. She was refreshed, moreso by the kill than by the rain, though she was also soaking wet. It was time to go now, they had been away from the Leviathan for long enough already. 

 

They made their way back under the rain, but this time they took a different path -or so Ghis said, because Drace found the dead trees, mud rivers and tall grass all looking the same.  Fewer animals bothered them, as the thunderstorm gained in power and even the fiercest predators of the plains were nowhere to be seen. 

At one point, Ghis stopped in the middle of a field with a few trees and what Drace recognised to be patio fences and footings of temporary huts. 

“This is the location of the Nomads’ village,” said Ghis. “We can eat there, and with some luck the storm will have subsided by then.”  

Drace nodded, as eager as her dignity allowed her to. They sat down under an old tree, partially protected from the rain by its large bark. 

Ghis opened his backpack and took out his lunch. Drace was happily surprised to find a similar packed lunch in her backpack. They started eating in silence, and as time passed the rainstorm indeed subsided to a light drizzle, and the sky cleared up to a lighter grey, the heavy clouds pushed southwards by a fresh wind. 

“So do tell Drace, what are you really going to do? I do not picture you hiding from Vayne and Gabranth all war long. Soon they will be on the lookout for you more than for our sweet Princess Dalmasca.”

“I am not hiding,” Drace answered curtly.

“Gabranth do suppose you escaped with his brother,” Ghis pointed out. “You‒”

“I know, I was there,” Drace cut him. The good mood she had been feeling thanks to the hunt was gone in a second.

“You do not know everything,” said Ghis. He looked like he was pondering whether or not to talk. He drank some wine, then took a deep breath. “I got a message from our common horned grumpy friend this morning before leaving the Leviathan. He asked me to interrogate his brother about you, not on Vayne’s orders mind you. Not only does he think both you and the captain escaped together, but he thinks you are, pardon my vocabulary, fucking his brother. He hates you for it, and Vayne is milking his jealousy just right.”

“Whatever. I do not care what Gabranth thinks,” Drace mumbled. She did not want to think about it, and even less to talk about it. 

“Drace,” sighed Ghis. “You are a bad liar.”

“Well, for your information, I am currently trying my best to convince myself I do not care.” There was a short silence, then she went on: “I wish I did not care.” 

Ghis did not answer, and Drace could see on his face that he was genuinely sorry to have brought up the subject of Gabranth. Still, she only saw one way to dull a little bit the pain in her heart. “And you Ghis? Don’t you wish you had another chance with Ondore, and would not insult each other each time you are forced to be in the same room?”

Ghis sighed. He looked at the sky. The rain had stopped.

“Today? No. Too much time has passed. There’s no saving this relationship. But if you ask me… I mean if you’d give me the possibility to go back in time twenty years ago and rewrite our ending? Give us a less bitter closure? Another chance? Yes Drace. Of course I would want it.” He looked her in the eye, and the vulnerability she saw there was all she needed to see to remember why Ghis was her friend. Why she was there with him now. It was enough to make her regret her question. “Drace, we do not have that choice. We cannot go back in time, you know it better than everybody. As much as I hate it, we have to put the need of others before those of our own, as your dear Lord Larsa likes to say.” He looked down at the soaked ground. “But I miss it Drace. I miss those times. I miss the Halim I used to know and love.” 

Drace took his hand. “Just as I miss the Gabranth I fell for. It seems like it happened so long ago.” She tried to smile, but it reached neither her voice nor her eyes. “You know what? Sometimes I envy Zargabaath. At least, Zecht going crazy and disappearing…” She made a vague gesture of the hand. “Once the shock is over... He was spared the slow descent into bitterness and resentment all our relationships seem to be fated to.”

Ghis nodded, his hand tightening around hers. There was no need for an answer, they knew it. In each other’s eyes and through the silence, they shared these emotions no one else could understand.  _ The lives of others before those of our owns.  _

 

The walk back to the Warrior’s Wash was uneventful, both Drace and Ghis lost deep in their thoughts. So Gabranth thought she had ditched him for Basch? Out of revenge or somesuch? Had Vayne been the one to plant that seed into his mind or… And so Ghis still regretted what had happened with Ondore. Drace took careful mental notes, filing them away in her memory. A part of her wished this conversation had not happened, that the distraction of the hunt had gone on for longer, another part was grateful they had talked. It had helped, as much as she hated it, to be honest about her feelings. 

Drace was pulled out of her thougts by greetings. The shuttle was waiting for them where they had left it, and the soldiers had barely moved, if their wet armors and eagerness to leave were any sign.

As they flew above the Giza rains and towards the Leviathan, neither Ghis nor Drace spoke, tired by the day. Their silence was nowhere near heavy though, and once again Drace reveled in that feeling of companionship. 

Once onboard the Leviathan, Ghis was quickly surrounded by assistants, lower Judges, messages and duties. Drace went back to her quarters. It was not evening yet she was exhausted. She fell on her bed, puzzled by her own feelings over the day. She had appreciated the hunt, and decided to bottle up everything else and fall asleep on a positive note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading, thank you again for your love, support, kudos and comment, they warm my heart and keep me going.  
> Next chapter will be next week on Tuesday, now that we are back on schedule! Love you!


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new chapter is heeere! Enjoy ~ <3

Drace’s mouth was painfully dry, her throat aching like sandpaper. She coughed, blood and sand coming up. Her whole body was in pain, like she had been ejected off of a flying ship and sent head first into the hard burning sands of the desert. Her head was pounding, and she opened her eyes.

“Ow fuck…” The sun blinded her, and she coughed up more blood. 

Her memories started coming back, patchy. 

 

_ “It’s going to be like Nabudis all over again, we have to leave, NOW!” screamed Drace over the scientists’ panicked shouts. Ghis was transfixed, his eyes on the piece of machinery where the Dawn Shard was glowing, seething myst. The room was scorching hot. No wonder Zecht had gone mad, having been in contact to so much power.  _

_ Drace did not want to finish like him. What if the power of the nethicite destroyed the ship?  _

 

She looked at the blood in her hands. She had effectively been thrown off a ship… well she had more like jumped off of an exploding ship in a tin can.

 

_ Instinct took over her.  _

_ She grabbed Ghis and ran. _

_ She ran, he shouted at her to let go, hypnotised by the stone, but she was stronger by far.  _

_ She knocked many soldiers over in her mad run. She vaguely remembered where the docks were, trusting her feet to take her there.  _

_ The alarm. Blinking red, screeching in her ears. _

_ The Leviathan was shaking, the mist was swirling around them, all powerful.  _

_ Melting metal. The docks, finally in sight.  _

_ Screams of panic, everywhere. _

_ A low rumbling.  _

_ Deflagration. _

_ The floor giving way under her feet.  _

_ She jumped into the nearest shuttle, throwing the pilot out and throwing Ghis in. She did not care anymore. Run, Escape, LEAVE. _

_ Years of training took over and she got the shuttle to fly. Full power to the motors.  _

_ Too late.  _

_ The shock wave caught them, and propelled the shuttle into the desert sky.  _

 

“Fuck… Ghis!” She scrambled over the sand, her eyes half open, searching for her companion. She remembered the nethicite now. Some debris w ere half buried in the sand around her. She remembered the explosion destroying the fleet. She was insanely lucky to be still alive. Drace managed to get up on shaky feet. She would take care of her injuries later.

“Ghis!” Her voice was coming out raspy, the taste of blood overpowering in her mouth. Only the silence of the desert answered her. As far as her eyes could see, rolling waves of glittering sand, blending with the sky in the horizon. She wondered if she was hallucinating until her eyes spotted the familiar shape of old Rozarrian oil rigs in the distance. Ogir Yensa, her mind supplied. So she was not hallucinating. Worse, she was lost somewhere in the Sandsea. 

“Ghis!” Drace looked around once more as she was making her way from crash debris to grey rock, hoping to see a human body.  “Come on you old rogue!”

Eventually, she noticed a shine. Something that was reflecting the sunlight a little bit too much. She ran, her feet struggling against the sand.

It was Ghis. His body was twisted, half buried into the sand. 

“Oh Ghis! You’d better be alive!” Slowly, Drace managed to pull him out of the sand, tears streaming down her face. He was in a sorry state. The whole left side of his armour was destroyed, scorched metal, melted and digging into his torn, burned skin. The left side of his face was in no better state, sand sticking to the open, bloody burns. 

Drace checked his pulse. Weak, but still there. She was feeling so grateful that not everything had been in vain. Gathering her strength, she cast the spell Raise for the first time. A fresh wave of mist flew out of her fingers and engulfed his unresponsive body. It would not be enough to guarantee his survival, not even enough to wake him up… but it could buy time. And for now, time was all they had. 

She casted a Cura then, and a second one right after. This would protect the wounds from infections for a few hours and help the blood clot, but it was nowhere near enough. She did not have endless mana reserves though, and would need a lot of rest to replenish them. Perhaps she still had enough strength to cast one last spell. For the first time since she woke up, Drace took the time to check her injuries. She was sporting a few burns, but a quick look at them assured Drace that they were only minor. She also had a few cuts here and there, plenty of bruises, a few tears in her clothes, but nothing serious. If thirst or the sun did not kill her first, she had a chance to make it. Ghis on the other hand… Drace combed her fingers through what remained of his hair. Most of the gray curls had been burned away with his skin, but a few strands remained intact over his right ear. 

She closed her eyes, drawing from her last magick resources, and cast a Cura focused on his head and neck. “I will be back shortly,” she softly said as she took off the cloak he had given her the day before, draping it over his exposed side. It would be of little use against a constant exposure to the burning sun of the Ogir Yensa, but it was the best she could do. 

She had to find a way out of the desert, quickly. The thought of crossing it afoot while carrying Ghis crossed her mind, but she discarded it at once. Without food, water nor a means of protection against the sun, it would be folly. And where to go? She would find out later. The only way out was the way they had come in. The sky. 

She walked around the crash site, knee-deep in sand. A few dozens of meters away from where Ghis was, she noticed a dark, bulky shape. Too dark to be a rock, and she was still too sane for it to be a hallucination. 

It was indeed no hallucination, but the remains of the emergency shuttle they had escaped the Leviathan with. It must have crashed here quickly after the blast of the explosion had ejected them. 

The shuttle was in a poor state, most of its left side destroyed by the blast, leaving a gaping hole of shredded metal. The left seat was torn open and the control panel was missing parts, wires and components sticking out of the board.

“Fuck…” Drace climbed in. She crawled under the control panel, luckily it seemed that the motor had not been overly damaged. She climbed out, digging in the sand to find the gloss’air rings. They were not intact, but neither were they beyond repair. It would take hours, but Drace felt a sliver of hope. It was better than she had anticipated. Looking around, she wondered if there would be any usable parts in the debris. She was no engineer, but she could try… who was she kidding? 

Stuck in the middle of a hostile desert with almost no tools, she sure as hell could try to repair the gloss’air rings. But even if the shuttle was able to fly again, its radars would be broken. How would they find their way quickly enough? Also, she would not have enough time to repair the fuselage. It would be a foolish hope to make it to a friendly place. 

_ So we are doomed to die here _ , a little voice whispered in Drace’s mind. 

“No.” 

In the distance, the wind was howling. Not yet a sandstorm, but with each minute passed they were trying their luck. She was wasting her time sitting here in the half-destroyed shuttle. She could think of a place to go while she was repairing. First, she had to find a way to make the shuttle work again. Ghis needed medical help as soon as possible, but most importantly they both needed to get away from the crash area and from the desert. The mist was thick, twirling,  _ angry, hungry,  _ as would say Fran. 

Fran. She would have known how to find her way back to the Westersand, to civilisation. 

Fran. She had been in a Shiva, with the others. Had they had the time to‒

 

_ That morning, Drace had not stopped pacing since Ghis had announced that they were in stationary a few miles away from Raithwall’s tomb, waiting for the princess and her companions to emerge from the ancient underground labyrinth.  _

_ Hundreds of questions were piling up in her mind, driving her insane. Was any of them injured? Fran? Was Fran all right? She could defend herself, of course, but King Raithwall’s tomb had the reputation to be extremely dangerous. And Vaan and Penelo? Surely the tomb was no place for teenagers like them!  _

_ The sky all around her was too blue for her worries, the noise of the Leviathan’s engines, usually soothing, was unnerving. It was funny, she thought, how quickly she had become attached to them. Oh well, another part of her mind supplied, maybe you would not have abandoned them if you actually cared for them. _

_ And the treasure? Was there really a nethicite hidden there?  _

_ But what if they decided to fight Ghis? He would not let them go this time… and what if one of them used the nethicite? _

_ Ghis had told her he would come back with information as soon as everything was finished, and that if she could please not worry, he would not harm any of them. He had also forbidden her to join him, just in case she would decide to do something reckless. She had begrudgingly accepted. He was right, it was better that way.  _

_ It felt like hours had passed when he came back. In his hand, a glowing light purple orb, shimmering with mist. So this was the Dawn Shard.  _

_ Drace’s first question was about the fate of the others, but Ghis brushed it off. Sent to a Shiva with Azelas.  _

_ All Ghis cared about was the Dawn Shard. True Manufacted nethicite, in his hand! The power of the gods was his now. Drace almost did not recognise him, his eyes lost in the twirling mist around the stone.  _

_ Something was awfully off. Drace followed him into the special rooms Draklor had implemented.  _

_ “I want you to assess its power,” said Ghis as he handed the stone to a Draklor lackey. _

_ WHAT? That was dangerous, Drace wanted to shout. Nethicite was not… and did the Leviathan?  _

_ “Did our orders not specify that we return the Stone for testing?” the Lackey asked, trembling.  _

_ Drace did not care much about Ghis’s answer. This was wrong, wrong. If the Midlight Shard in Nabradia had indeed been the cause of such destruction…  _

_ The scientist placed the nethicite in a tube, and started babbling: _

_ “Our equipment here is limited, so we’ll be using the ship’s drive to make our assessment. Once we’ve connected the Stone, the reaction should be easily measured—” _

_ “Methods do not interest me. Only results.” Ghis cut him.  _

_ “Are you sure it is safe? Can the Leviathan endure so much power?” Drace asked, more and more worried as the scientists became more and more frantic in their measuring. Ghis ignored her. Somewhere deep inside her mind, Drace heard Fran’s voice, a warning. The mist was burning. “Ghis! Stop playing god! What if we lose control of the stone?”  _

_ She shook his arm, but he ignored her. Inside her mind, she could hear Fran scream. Vieras are especially sensitive to mist.  _

_ Something happened. The alarm of the ship rang off. The lackeys and scientists began running around, shouting.  _

_ They had lost control. They were all going to die.   _

_ “It’s going to be like Nabudis all over again, we have to leave, NOW!” _

_ They were all going to die.  Ghis. Her. Thousands of innocent soldiers. _

_ Ashelia.  _

_ Basch, and Balthier.  _

_ The children.  _

_ Fran.  _

 

Drace closed her eyes and swallowed back tears. She had not thought she would come to care for Fran so quickly, from a near stranger to an almost-constant presence in the back of her mind. And now she had almost no hope of getting out of this alive and see the Viera again.

Drace wiped her eyes angrily. This would get her nowhere. She got up, and walked back to where she had left Ghis. Hope or not, it was time to get to work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and you will be glad to learn that I also have chapters 42 and 43 finished! It feels good to be back on track so soon before camp Nano! I must admit that I would love to finish this fic during camp Nano... anyway, I love you all, thank you so much for your support, and see you next week!


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